Origins
by LeFox
Summary: On ancient Terra, a plot is hatched to create an immortal golem, Garland, by sacrificing Terra's prince. A young boy named Kuja finds himself caught up in the chaos, fleeing for his life alongside the prince... but how long can they survive?
1. Runners in the Forest

**Author's Note:** This is my anniversary fic! Seven years ago, I joined this site, and started writing fanfiction - and _this _is the fic I always wanted to write. I'm happy to say I think it's turning out well, and I hope you agree. If you happen to stumble in and read this, please, by all means, leave a comment. Feedback is my favorite thing, like, ever. Also, "Origins" is a working title and is subject to change without notice if or when I think up a better one.

**Warnings:** Character death, language, probably some violence, and copious amounts of politics and mad science and doomsday cults and possibly a lot of mindfuckery, because I do love mindfuckery.

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**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter One: Runners in the Forest**

Terra was an old world; that much went without saying. It was a parasitic planet, living off the energy of younger, sacrificial planets, and it was well into its tenth or eleventh life cycle now. And a prosperous cycle it was, at that – the old cities were flourishing with the opening of new trade routes into the previously-unknown northern area of the mother continent, and the new types of ships made it possible to explore the oceans. Newborn cities and towns were budding up like vernal flowers as wealthy merchants established new settlements along the trade routes; port towns sprang up around the ocean to provide a berth for the exploring ships. The land was largely fertile, offering up crops as willingly as weeds. The king had recently passed into the Path of Souls, but the queen regent was more than capable of maintaining a peaceful rule until her son came of age, which would be quite soon indeed. The boy was frivolous, to be sure, but it was a frivolous age.

The people of Terra believed this particular cycle might very well go on forever, particularly now, when so much of the world had suddenly opened up to them; why should their god – He Who Sees All – give them so much, if they were not meant to keep it?

In the end, it would not be an act of divine punishment that destroyed them. Their downfall would come from a far more _mortal_ source: greed.

xxx

The village of Bran Bal, located in the warm southern region of the mother continent, was almost pastoral in nature; it was little more than a few small homes clustered around a central pond. The population was quite small to begin with, and had begun to shrink of late. Far from the trade routes, Bran Bal was a poor village, and the young people of the village wanted nothing so much as to get away from it and flee to the city. Most of them went to Cazad or Belapest; they were nearby enough to be easy to reach, yet far enough to fully distance themselves from the dusty little town they so despised.

Bran Bal was quiet for another reason: the royal family _wanted _it that way. It was the town nearest to one of their favorite retreats, and their ancestors had selected it precisely because it was far from the capitol city and all of its chaos. Still, when they traveled to Bran Bal, the chaos tended to follow them, and so, for a month every vernal season, the tiny city was filled with all of the aristocracy Terra's mother continent had to offer, all of them sniffing and sniveling over the poor accommodations. As a result, most of the natives of Bran Bal simply left and spent the month elsewhere, with their families.

The orphans of Bran Bal – and there were quite a few; when young parents fled the city, they often abandoned their "baggage" – simply spent the month in the neighboring forest, often laughing about the nobility as they spied from between the trees or across the grand bridge (all else aside, Bran Bal had a _magnificent _bridge to her name).

One orphan, however, didn't care to laugh at the wealthy, and instead spent _his _days wandering through the trees, coming up with stories of adventure. He was something of an oddity. His family hadn't come from this region, and so he _looked _odd – he didn't have the blond hair, tanned skin, and short stature of his fellows; he was most assuredly from the central region: he had short white hair and pale skin, and he was tall, though he hadn't yet hit the age where he might become gangly. He was only eight years old, though he was clever beyond his years, and had been alone as long as anyone could remember. His parents, they had told him, were vagrants. The woman had been pregnant when she'd arrived, and the two of them had left after he was born, leaving the squealing orphan behind so as to more easily continue their journey. As a result, the boy had grown up with a certain attitude of independence. Several people had tried to take him in at one point or another; none had kept him for long. It was as much his fault as anyone's.

It was just as well, he supposed, perching on a fallen log. He wanted to leave Bran Bal someday anyway, just like everyone else. He _would_ leave, one day. There was nothing for him here, after all. He cocked his head, listening to the sounds of laughter coming from the village. The royals had arrived a week ago, the queen and the prince, and the vultures had arrived shortly afterwards. The boy wondered how long the vultures would remain. _As long as the royals do, probably_, he thought bitterly. It wasn't that the boy hated the royal family. He'd never so much as seen them; their manor was on the other side of the forest, and they didn't venture to Bran Bal – the nobles came to them, instead. No, it wasn't that he hated the royals. He just hated the way they attracted the nobles, like vultures to carrion.

He grumbled to himself, and stood. It wouldn't do to stand around like this; glaring off into the distance wouldn't do any good. The boy simply stuck his tongue out in the direction of the village, and continued along his familiar, well-walked path, daydreaming as he went. Perhaps today he would be one of the king's men from the old stories, off to save some young maiden… no, that was horribly dull; besides, what would he _do _with a maiden? No, instead, he would be… off to slay some horrendous beast. Yes, that was far more interesting. But what manner of beast? A dragon? That seemed horribly stupid; dragons were useful creatures, yet they were always being slain in the stories. Hm. Perhaps… a… a… hecteyes? That didn't seem worthy of a noble quest, but hecteyes' _were _disruptive creatures. Perhaps this one was huge. Yes. A huge hecteyes; that was his goal.

"Be afraid, foul beast, for I, a guardian of the king's realm, have come to slay you!" He picked up a stick, brandishing it at the empty air. He roared, for of course he had to play both parts. Come to think of it, did a hecteyes even roar? Never mind, this one did. He roared again, for emphasis, and then declared, "Your roars can't weaken me, demon, though they are fierce! You will taste steel!" He sliced at the air…

And a scream echoed through the forest.

The boy froze, the stick clenched tightly in his little hands. Whoever had screamed, they had quite thoroughly ruined his game. Shaking, he cowered in the undergrowth alongside the trail, listening intently. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he felt the pulse in his skull – what was he going to do? What could he do? Was someone hurt? Was someone hurting them? If they found him, would they hurt him, too? His green eyes narrowed sharply. Why was he sitting here like some frightened child? _Because I _am_ a frightened child_, he answered himself, then shook his head. What was the use of playing someone brave if you couldn't be brave when reality demanded it? As he stood, his hand tightened on the stick in his hands. He stepped out of his hiding spot, and climbed onto one of the natural walkways formed by the floating trees' roots. It would be easier, he thought, to see things from above.

He moved quietly along the platform, careful not to cast a shadow on the ground below. He walked where he could, but in other places, he had to crawl in order to remain hidden. More screams split the air, and each time, the boy froze, listening. He couldn't tell if the scream was one of pain or fear or something else, and that terrified him. But he knew he was getting closer: the screams were growing louder, and he thought he could hear footsteps on the ground below. He inched along, agonizingly slowly, still shaking with a combination of terror and adrenaline.

He caught sight of them in a flash, as they passed beneath the trees.

In the lead was a strangely-dressed young man, his long silvery-white hair pulled back tightly and held in one hand, likely to not give those chasing him anything to grab onto. He was on foot now, but his clothing suggested he might have been riding at some point; the boy wasn't close enough to tell if the gear was for a horse or dragon, but that was hardly important now. Behind him were four others: a man, two women, and a fourth unidentifiable in armor. The boy's stomach twisted into a knot, but he steeled his nerves. He didn't know the story behind this pursuit, but four to one seemed like incredibly unfair odds, and as far as he could tell, the man who was fleeing was unarmed. Well, _he _wasn't. He had a stick.

He slid down from the platform, dropping to the ground carefully and quietly. If the group was following the path – and it looked as if they were – they would have to loop back around through here soon. The boy sank into the undergrowth again, watching the path ahead carefully. He would have to time this perfectly. Even a breath short, and not only would he have not stopped the runners, but he'd have alerted them to _his_ presence, and who _knew _what might happen then? He watched, terrified that perhaps he had miscalculated. Maybe the man being chased had broken away from the path in a panic, hoping to lose them in the dense undergrowth. Maybe he'd been caught. Maybe the boy had somehow forgotten this part of the trail, or had forgotten which part of the trail they were on. The moments stretched on, agonizingly slowly, and just when he thought he might have to give up on this mad plan, they appeared again.

The man was clearly winded by this point, looking over his shoulder as he ran. Still, he ducked and dodged around low-hanging roots easily, if not always smoothly. Those behind him were gaining distance; that was clear - they didn't seem tired at all, but their quarry was tiring. The boy gritted his teeth, and waited until they were near. The man sprinted past him, not noticing him in the slightest. The chasers didn't seem to see him, either, and that was to his advantage.

Just as the first – a red-haired woman with a snake tattoo curled from her bared stomach up to her face – ran by, the boy shoved the stick out, catching her ankle. Caught by surprise, the woman yelped, then went sprawling a short way down the trail. The man, a severe-looking fellow with a necklace of small rodent skulls, came to a sharp halt a breath away from her, looking around in confusion, but the man in armor (it had a very noticeable triple-headed dragon crest on the helm, the boy noted) behind him wasn't so lucky. He collided with the skull-wearing man, and the two of them went tumbling. The final woman, who was so overweight it was a wonder she could run at all, walked up to the other three, laughing merrily.

"Ah, tripped over a stone, did you?" The woman held out a hand to the snake woman, who snarled. She shot to her feet as if she'd never fallen at all, and faster than the boy could see, she drew two wickedly-curved swords from their scabbards at her waist. Her dark eyes swept the forest around her.

"That was no stone. There's someone out here," she hissed, and the other woman's plump, good-natured face immediately soured into something far darker, and much more dangerous. She unfurled the whip she carried in her hand, and held it at the ready, prepared to strike. The two men became likewise prepared, though the man with the dragon crest looked down the path toward where the other man had fled, perhaps trying to decide which prey to pursue. The boy struggled not to run away. As of now, they didn't know where he was. If he moved… if he moved…!

Footsteps came from down the path. "What's wrong," a melodic, airy voice called. "Giving up already?" To the boy's surprise and horror, the white-haired man from before stepped into view, grinning like a fool. Up close, he was quite beautiful, with bright blue eyes and fine features, his pale cheeks flushed and hair damp from the run. The boy's heart sank. He hadn't realized he was trying to save a cocky idiot. Who else would come back to taunt his pursuers? He might have just risked his own life for nothing, and he might have to sit here and watch these four commit murder, and then… and then they'd kill _him_.

"Quiet, Neirin," the snake-woman snapped, taking a step toward the man. Without thinking, the boy grabbed a rock – more of a pebble, really – and threw it at the woman's head. It missed, bouncing off of her shoulder, but she spun, enraged. The woman with the whip flicked it sharply, before the rock had even made contact, and the lash curled around the boy's wrist like a tentacle. She yanked, and he felt himself helplessly torn from the bushes. The snake woman was on him in a flash, her knee on his chest, her sword at his neck.

He was going to die. He felt oddly calm.

"Who are you?" the woman hissed. The boy noticed that when she snarled like that, the snake mouth on her cheek seemed to open wider. Odd. "Who are you? Who sent you?" the woman continued, and the sword pressed harder against his throat. The boy's heart began to pound faster. _I'm going to die. I'm going to die. He-Who-Sees-All, accept my soul and let me be born again and-_

Footsteps nearby caught his attention, and he wished he could turn his head without injuring himself. "A child, Maliris?" It was the white-haired man, the boy saw, as the man leaned over the two of them. Why hadn't he run yet? The woman looked up at him, scowling. The boy was beginning to suspect she _always _scowled. The man shrugged. "I fail to see how a child is a problem. He's probably some stray from Bran Bal. I understand they wander through this forest when the court settles down in the village."

The woman sheathed her sword, but grabbed the boy by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. "He tripped me to put me off pursuit. He might serve as some distraction for someone further up. _Think_, Neirin! We should kill him now, before he can report to his master!" She gave his collar a shake, as if to emphasize her point. The boy blinked, confused. Were these people… _with_ the white-haired man, Neirin? His friends? But why were they chasing him, then? And why had he screamed?

Neirin frowned, staring down at him. He shrank back. _He thinks she's right_, he realized, despairing. _That's what you get for trying to help, you idiot! _Now he _was _going to die, and all because he'd tried to save the life of the very man who was going to order his death! The boy was young, true, but even he could appreciate the fine irony in this situation. He closed his eyes, as tightly as he could, and waited for the order…

"Why did you trip my guardians?"

The boy opened his eyes, and came face-to-face with Neirin. The man had knelt, and was staring at him intently, as if perhaps he could see into him and see his very soul. And perhaps he could. And if he _did, _why, he'd see that the boy had only been trying to help, after all! With renewed hope, the boy cleared his throat and said, "I thought they were chasing you. You screamed," he added quickly, as if that might make everything the slightest bit clearer. Neirin stared at him a moment longer… and then his lips twitched, and the man began to laugh. He laughed until he fell backwards onto the forest floor, where he continued to laugh, gasping for breath. The boy stared at him, mystified. That wasn't at all the reaction he had expected. The guardians, meanwhile, simply frowned at the orphan boy, as if they thought he had gone quite mad.

It was the man with the skulls who spoke at last. "It was a… training exercise, of sorts. Neirin, recover your senses." He looked down disdainfully at Neirin, who was still laughing. The younger man sat up at last, chuckling.

"What did I tell you?" he asked breathlessly, looking around at the guardians, who didn't seem willing to look back at him. "Come on now, what did I tell you? I told you, no matter where I go-" He gestured toward the boy, who was still bewildered by the entire affair. "-I only need to scream, and someone loyal to me will come to my aid! I wasn't expecting a child, to be fair, but all the same, he was effective." Neirin stood, brushing himself off. His gear was for dragon-riding, the boy realized, in muted bemusement. The man walked over, and gestured for the woman – Maliris, he had called her – to release her captive. She scowled, of course, but released him nonetheless. "Where are you from, boy?" Neirin asked. "I'll take you back to your parents."

The boy looked away. "I don't know where my parents are. Er, sir," he added quickly, because if Neirin could afford to ride a dragon and have guardians, surely he was of the aristocracy, and it wouldn't do to offend him _now_.

Neirin sobered immediately, and then, a thoughtful look crossed his fair face. "An orphan," he mused, with the look of someone who was planning something. He looked to his guardians. "Tell me. Those of royal blood are supposed to show charity to those less fortunate, are they not?" What was he playing at? The boy frowned, looking at the guardians, hoping for some sort of clue. The only clue he received was a blend of scowls and looks of horror. Neirin seemed satisfied by this response, and he looked back to the boy, smiling like a cat who had captured a mouse. "Would you like to live in a castle?"

The man in the dragon armor whipped around to stare at Neirin, and though his face was hidden, his voice carried nothing but stunned rage. "What- you would _take him in_? He could be a spy for an assassin! You'd be better off just killing him here and now, and ending any chance that-"

"Oh, shut up," Neirin said lightly, and the man fell immediately silent.

_A castle. Those of royal blood. Guardians. God!_

"You're the prince!" the boy blurted, his green eyes wide and startled. Neirin laughed again.

"So I am, or so they tell me, and so I tell you. Come along, it's a long way back to the dragons, and I promised I'd be back before nightfall." He walked on, without waiting to see whether or not the boy even _wanted_ to 'live in a castle.' Regardless, the boy tagged along. After all, anything had to be better than Bran Bal. A short way down the path, Neirin paused, and looked back at him. "I never did ask your name, did I?"

The boy shook his head. "No, Highness. It's Kuja."

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**Author's Note:** Aaaand that's it! Come back next Tuesday for chapter two. Thanks for reading!


	2. Taharka

**Author's Note: **_Wow,_ I honestly didn't expect this fic to do nearly as well as it has – and right out of the gate, too! Thank you so much to everyone who read the first chapter, and I hope you continue to read and that this fic continues to live up to your expectations. On with the chapter!

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**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Two: Taharka**

The dragons were smaller than he had expected them to be, but then, he hadn't expected there to be _five _of them. Kuja had never seen a dragon before, and he was surprised to find how incorrectly he had imagined they might look. They weren't scaled, as the stories said, but were feathered instead. They wore the heavy harnesses he'd heard about, but the harnesses weren't decorated or painted, but were plain leather and beaten metal, unornamented. All of the dragons he'd ever heard about were green, naturally, being covered in scales. These dragons were red-feathered, with golden crests arching from their skulls to their tails. They roared in recognition as their master approached, and Kuja flinched.

Neirin looked down, smiling. "Never seen a dragon before, I take it? …Oh, right, you're from Bran Bal, aren't you," he chuckled. "Well, these are Crested Royals. Not the sturdiest breed, but they're built for speed and beauty. You see them in races quite a bit." Dragon races? Kuja's head spun. He'd never seen a dragon before in his life, and Neirin was talking about dragon _races_ as if they were an everyday occurrence. Did everyone have dragons in the city? Would _he_ have a dragon in the city?

The guardians climbed into the saddles of their dragons, fastening the harness gear around their waists and securing the gear to the harness with heavy metal clips. Neirin lifted Kuja into the saddle of the fifth dragon, before swinging up gracefully behind him. Kuja looked around, suddenly anxious. He had no gear, himself; there was nothing to secure him to the dragon's harness once it was in flight. "If you fall, you'll be dead before you have the time to worry about it," Neirin told him, securing his own gear quickly.

Well, _that _was reassuring.

As a flimsy bit of security, Neirin wrapped one strap of the gear around Kuja's waist, and pulled it tight. "But just in case, we'll see to it that you'll dangle instead of tumble, hm?" Gratefully, the boy tried to sit perfectly still, lest the strap become necessary. Neirin looked back at the guardians, who nodded and, one by one, took flight. The dragons extended their wings, lifted them, and then pushed themselves into the sky with powerful pounding strokes. The dirt beneath them fanned up and formed a dense dusty cloud, which left Kuja choking. He wanted to ask why _they_ hadn't taken to the air, but couldn't draw the breath to do so. Neirin appeared untroubled by the dust, as he gazed upward, shielding his eyes with one hand. Overhead, the guardians fell into a circle one at a time, circling out wider and wider.

"Hold on tight," the prince advised, and Kuja sank his nails into the leather of the harness straps. He had no idea what he ought to expect, but he knew he didn't want to fall out of the harness. Whether he had 'time to worry about it' or not, the boy had no interest in dying today. He wanted to close his eyes, but he found himself unable to do so – the anticipation was exhilarating. The dragon's wings spread wide around him, slowly, so slowly. They rose up, and the boy braced himself for the rise.

Instead, it felt more like a fall. The dragon's wings swept down sharply, pushing them up into the sky. Kuja's stomach dropped sharply, and he gasped as the world below fell away. The wind swept up beneath the dragon's wings, and they soared upward toward the blue-grey sky. "We don't have far to fly," Neirin yelled, over the sound of the wind. "It'll only be a matter of moments. You'll see the manor before you know it." He said something else, but his words were swallowed by the wind as they joined the guardians and ceased to rise. They leveled out perfectly in the center of the circle, and the guardians swept out of the circle, instead forming a diamond around Neirin's dragon. _A protective formation, _Kuja realized, watching as the four riders flew alongside them, fascinated and amazed by how easily and precisely they controlled the dragons they rode.

They flew with the wind, and indeed the trip was swift, but the boy found he was ill-suited for flight. Perhaps it was the looseness of his makeshift harness, or the dizzying heights, or the motion of the wings moving beneath and around him. Whatever the case, his stomach roiled, and he couldn't wait to land. He found himself watching the faraway land below, eager for any sign of the manor, though he couldn't say just what the manor was supposed to look like. When the dragons began to descend, he didn't even notice the decline in altitude. He watched the man in the armor on the dragon in front of them turn and yell something, but he couldn't make out the words. Kuja felt the prince nod, and then…

…the world snapped back into place. The dragon's feet touched the earth heavily, jarring him from his vertigo, shaking him from his dizziness. He slid sideways, only to be caught by the harness strap. He stared at it, bewildered, as if he hadn't the slightest idea what to make of it. Neirin unfastened himself and slid down from the saddle. Curiously, the prince turned to look at his new companion, and was confused to find him dangling semi-consciously from the harness strap.

"Not bad for your first flight," Neirin assured him, reaching for the strap. "Most people vomit. And next to no security equipment; you're practically a professional." The strap slid free, and Neirin slid Kuja carefully to the ground. The boy was content to lie on his back and wait for the world to settle back into itself for now, but Neirin had more important matters to tend to. He swept away, heading toward the manor.

The manor was rather more like a keep, built like a fortress, in a more tumultuous time. The walls were made of thick blue-grey stone, and every stone was laced with golden wards, meant to withstand almost any magical assault. The wards weren't as strong as they had once been, but it was just as well; they weren't needed in these peaceful times. The walls reached skyward, but there were no towers; the manor was rather like a misshapen square block sitting at the edge of the forest, ringed by a lake. As many buildings on Terra were, it had been crafted without attention to shape, but to appear like some living thing, carved from the earth itself. The resulting manor wasn't very attractive, but it _was _very private, and that was precisely what Neirin and his mother had wanted. Neirin sighed, looking at the banners over the manor. His own was the highest, of course, bearing the seal of Terra: Triangles and inverted triangles contained within a ring.

The others…

"What part of _holiday _don't these people understand?" he asked, throwing his hands into the air, exasperated. Maliris was closest, and she rolled her eyes and said, "They're nobility. You're royalty. It's like wild animals and fresh meat – where the meat goes, the beasts follow." Neirin sighed again, scowling to match Maliris's own. "Well, this meat is beginning to wish it could bite back." She laughed at that, of course. For all her dark moods, Maliris was almost disappointingly easy to amuse.

Neirin looked back at the orphan boy, whose name he had already forgotten. The boy was still lying on the ground, though he had rolled onto his stomach, grasping at the ground as if desperately relieved to find that it was solid beneath him. Rolling his eyes skyward, the prince muttered, "See to it the boy gets cleaned off, then send him to me."

"And just where will I be sending him?" She was annoyed; her pride had been injured by the order to act as little more than a nursemaid.

Neirin shrugged. "The throne room, I suppose. I'll be holding court. You should attend, too." He gestured to the banners flying overhead. "Taharka is here."

The guardians led Kuja inside, and then promptly vanished, presumably to find their master. They handed him off to a servant, who handed him off to a second servant, who passed him along to a steward, who told him to wait in a large, empty chamber. He sat down in a corner, nearly in tears – no one seemed to know where he was meant to go, or what he was meant to do, for of course the silent, harsh guardians hadn't seen fit to explain it, and _he _certainly couldn't. The prince couldn't be consulted while occupied with court, whatever that meant.

He found himself wishing he hadn't left Bran Bal, for at least he knew the little village. _I could run away,_ he thought, looking around suddenly, realizing no one would notice if he slipped out of this room: the doorway stood unguarded. _I could run back to Bran Bal_. It was only on the other side of the forest. It might be a long walk, but he was used to that – he could find his way, in time. The forest was familiar to him. Perhaps not this area, but he could find his way if he managed to climb up onto the platforms, he could see the way. With renewed confidence, the boy stood and crept to the door. No one stood outside; no one seemed concerned with guarding an eight-year-old child. That suited him just fine. It would be easier this way.

The halls were deserted, save for a number of servants who, for the most part, ignored him. Kuja was terrified he might encounter one of the servants who had passed him along, but he found none of them. Nor did he find his way to the exit, or anywhere else useful, for that matter. The halls twisted and doubled back on one another, winding around and crossing back like serpents; this building was entirely different from the simple buildings he had grown used to in Bran Bal. Kuja realized he had passed the same painting at the same cross-hallway three times, and each time he was _certain _he had taken a different route. He glared at it, his hands curled into fists.

"Well," he growled at it. "_Damn _you, anyway." He knew he wasn't supposed to use such language, and somehow, that made everything just the slightest bit better. He looked down the remaining three halls, wondering if there was a way he hadn't tried yet. Or… no, maybe he _had _tried all three, but had taken a wrong turn somewhere further on. But how would he _know_? He growled in frustration, and stomped his foot. He'd come so _far_! He could navigate through a forest blindfolded; why couldn't he make it through a building? Infuriated and losing patience, Kuja took off at a run, tearing down the hallways like a small, enraged beast. He didn't care who saw him; they couldn't stop him; he would make his way out of the manor before anyone could possibly stop him.

The guardian in the dragon armor found him first.

The man came out of nowhere, or so it seemed. Kuja whirled around a corner, not anticipating that anyone might be standing there, only to collide with a solid, unyielding wall of metal. The world went hazy for a moment. When it slid firmly back into focus, Kuja found himself on the floor, cradling his head on his knees. That had _hurt_. His ears rang, his head pounded, his vision remained blurry.

"You're in quite a hurry." The voice was like stones grinding together, and it struck terror into the boy's heart. _He knows I'm trying to run._ Was the dragon going to kill him? Would the prince sweep in to save him again? …No, he was at "court." Kuja was on his own now. He scrambled backwards, not bothering to struggle to his feet; if the man tried to kill him, at least he could try to roll away. The ache pounding through his skull didn't bode well for a chase. Should it come to that, he was most assuredly doomed.

To his surprise, the man laughed.

"So you're a coward, then," he said, stepping forward with wide, powerful strides. His hand, encased in a heavy gauntlet, closed around Kuja's arm before the boy could escape, surrounding the arm completely. "You'd make for a poor assassin, and you'll make an even sorrier pet. Then again, Neirin never _has _had the sharpest taste in pets." Kuja stared at the armored hand, knowing he couldn't break free, yet every muscle in his body urged him to _try_. But the dragon-man would surely tear his arm off. Where was the prince? Neirin would have stopped the man, just like he had stopped the woman in the forest!

"And where are you _supposed _to be?"

The question caught him off guard. Kuja looked up, confused. The hand on his arm wasn't hurting him, but pulling him up to his feet, and though the man didn't release him, he didn't seem eager to harm him, either. The boy stammered for a moment, unsure of what he ought to say – after all, he could hardly admit that he was planning to run away, not to one of Neirin's guardians. When he was unable to supply an answer, the dragon-man heaved a sigh that dripped with annoyance. "Well, come along, then. You might as well keep us entertained until you can manage to untangle your tongue long enough to provide an answer."

The guardians were housed in a room adjacent to the guards' barracks, but their lodgings were far more luxurious than the guards'. Their beds were large and canopied, each tucked into a corner of the room, providing each of the four with their own space, however small that space might be. A basin with water sat against the far wall, and both the basin and the pitcher beside it were elaborately decorated with various images out of some story Kuja didn't think he recognized; similar images graced the canopies of the guardians' beds: hideous beasts, grand battles, depictions of gods. The boy stared at the pictures, fascinated, trying to follow the tale only to become helplessly lost in the wild, vivid colors.

When the dragon-man shoved him into one of the chairs sitting around a table in the center of the room, Kuja didn't resist; it wouldn't serve him well to argue at this point. The snake-woman Maliris and the man with the skulls sat at the table, as well, watching him curiously. The man sat down heavily in another chair, glaring pointedly at him from across the table, but Kuja simply stared at his bare feet, dangling pitifully above the floor. He was in yet another place where he didn't know what he was supposed to do, but this time, he couldn't escape.

"You called yourself Kuja," Maliris said, and the boy simply nodded; what else could he do? Luckily, the woman didn't seem terribly concerned with his answer. "I am Maliris," she continued. "You've met Tiamat." She gestured with one heavily-jeweled hand toward the man in the dragon armor, who grunted in acknowledgement. "Our dear Kraken is absent, seeing to the fools who've come to see what they can get out of the queen regent and the prince. And lastly, _this_ is Lich." She nodded toward the man with the skull necklace, who was watching Kuja intently.

Timidly, the boy looked up. "You have strange names," he commented, and all three of them laughed, as if it were the strangest thing anyone had ever said to them.

It was Lich who finally spoke, and he stood as he did so, as if to add a sense of gravity and severity to the discussion at hand. "Think of them as titles. When we became guardians, we gave up the names we were given at birth, and took on new identities. We are named after the four Beasts of Chaos, guardians of the First Kings. Look at the images." He pointed with one thin, pale finger at the pictures on the canopies over the four beds. "The Maliris, God of Serpents, the Fire Chaos. It wielded six sabers; each imbued with a spell that would slaughter the enemy even after the Maliris itself had fallen. The Tiamat, a triple-headed dragon, and the Wind Chaos. It was said to be able to call up a vortex so powerful, it carried those who fell into it away into another dimension. The Kraken, a sea monster, the Water Chaos. It could drown its victims, even on land. And finally," Lich paused, drawing himself up proudly. "The Lich, God of Judgment, the Earth Chaos. It held judgment over all mortals, and could decide to bring them death if he found them unworthy. All four guarded the First Kings of Terra, when first they claimed this world as their own." He sank back down into his seat, his story completed.

Kuja listened to all of this with rapt attention, for he loved stories and legends. When Lich sat down, he frowned; was the story over already? "Well, what sort of things did they do?" he pressed, forgetting his anxiety in his eagerness. "Did they… did they go on adventures, or help the First Kings claim their thrones?" Surely such impressive beasts couldn't merely be _pets_, there had to be some sort of story behind them! "How did the Kings come to be guarded by them?" He wondered aloud. "Did they have to best them in combat? Or-"

Lich laughed, a raspy, unusual sound. "Neirin's picked a curious little toy, hasn't he? Well, since you asked-"

Before the man could finish, the door slammed open, and an infuriated Kraken stormed into the room, screaming wordlessly in unbridled rage. Kuja cowered in his chair, then quickly slid out of it, because in her current state, Kraken wasn't likely to notice him if she chose to sit down. Her dark, curled hair fell crazily around her face, and her eyes were wide and wild, and she appeared as if at any given moment, she might simply explode. Kuja, for his part, simply retreated into a small crevice between two of the beds, hoping she wouldn't notice him.

"That sniveling, self-assured _snake_," she snapped, throwing herself into the abandoned chair. It creaked in protest, as much from the force of anger as from the guardian's weight. "He's done it this time! He'll get himself thrown in the dungeon for a certainty! If he doesn't, I'll _kill him myself, _I _swear I will_!" Her voice had gone shrill, and none of the wildness had retreated. Maliris reached over and, as Kuja watched with horrified fascination, slapped Kraken. The sound echoed in the small room.

"Speak clearly, or don't speak at all," Maliris said flatly, sitting back down. "We have company. Conduct yourself with dignity, or at least explain _why _you don't want to do so." Curiously, Kraken looked around; her gaze finally settling on Kuja's hiding spot. Maliris sighed. "Get back over here, brat. She won't bite unless you wiggle around too much." Slowly, Kuja crept from his little crevice, and wandered shyly back over to the table. "Now look what you've done, you've scared Neirin's new brat," Maliris said flatly, glaring at Kraken, who simply shrugged.

Kuja looked between the four guardians, wishing one of them would explain what was going on, and too terrified to ask. Curiosity was the curse of childhood, and he wished he didn't _wonder_ so much about the affairs of adults.

In the end, he was saved from this torment by Lich, who appeared to have noticed his interest. "Learn this name well, boy: Taharka." _Taharka_. Kuja didn't think the word meant anything in particular to him; clearly it only concerned those of higher society. Lich continued. "Taharka is the head of an old doomsday cult – one of the groups who claim we worship a false god, and that this life cycle will end much sooner than any of the cycles before it, perhaps even in our own lifetime. The cult itself has always been weak in the past; largely disregarded, but Taharka is… different. He's more than a fanatic. He's a scientist, you could say, and he believes that, in the end, it is science that will save Terra."

"He's a thrice-damned fool," Maliris hissed, and Kraken nodded. Tiamat appeared unmoved.

Lich simply gave her a look of exasperation, and then pressed on. "Not _us,_ per se, but Terra – the planet itself. The cult believes something has gone fundamentally wrong with each of Terra's prior cycles; that it has incorrectly fused with other planets. Taharka, however, has continuously come up with strange methods to… _control_ the cycle. At first, he was merely an amusing fool, but of late he has become…" Lich frowned. "Almost dangerous. Particularly now that his methods have begun to involve experimentation. On _people_."

"If nothing else, it's still entertaining to see what sort of madness he comes up with next," Tiamat commented, grinning. "And one of these days, the queen or prince will tire of him and put him to death. Taharka is nothing more than an insect."

Kraken lifted herself to her feet, and glared at Tiamat. "Well, I'm off to watch the _insect _meet with the queen and prince. You lot should, too. You won't believe what he thinks he can get away with _this _time." She stalked off, and shortly thereafter, all three of the other guardians followed, and though he wasn't invited, so did Kuja.

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**Author's Note: **And that's it for this week. The next chapter will be up next Tuesday; see you then!


	3. Garland and His Flock

**Author's Note: **I love you people. ;w; And check me out, I'm awesome at these midnight updates! Also, a special thank you to everyone who commented on the bit with the Guardians - I was actually disgustingly proud of that.

To publicly answer a question that was asked in the reviews – this fic takes place approximately five thousand years before the events of the game, and is based on canon as closely as I can gather from various hits and clues _within_ the game. I'm not sure if you'd consider it an AU or not, but the interpretation is entirely up to you. TL;DR: it's AU if you want to think of it that way, but it's based on canon backstory. Hope that clears things up!

Please feel free to ask any other questions you may have regarding the fic; I'm here to answer them! (Unless they're, y'know, "What happens in the end?" questions, because dagnabbit, if I gotta wait 'til the end to write the end, you gotta wait 'til the end to read the end.)

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Three: Garland and His Flock**

The manor's throne room was immense, easily larger than any room Kuja had ever seen. It was richly decorated with vividly-colored tapestries, lit by enormous stained-glass windows, and lined with what Kuja recognized as holographic projectors: crystal orbs designed to capture and replay recordings. In this case, those recordings were more than likely to be of meetings or discussions. One of them was clearly activated: it radiated a faint white light, pulsating quietly. The room was crowded with all manner of richly-dressed folk, gossiping impatiently among themselves. They stepped quickly out of the guardians' way, some looking less pleased about it than others. The four guardians made their way toward the front of the crowd with Kuja tagging along behind, struggling not to get lost in the crowd.

One by one the nobility approached the throne, kneeling before the queen and prince to discuss some order of business: either they wanted something, wanted something stopped, or wanted to be seen wanting something from the royalty. The queen listened to each person with a calm, impassive air, before either responding to them or dismissing them entirely. She was aging, but she was very clearly not a woman to be taken lightly; she was no fool. Neirin, on the other hand, appeared bored. He responded to no one, and often appeared to not be listening at all.

"He's listening, alright," Kraken said, when Kuja commented on this. "But if they don't think he is, they think they can take advantage of him. They like to think he's just a pretty idiot, and he encourages it, lets 'em think he's weak. That way they're always caught off guard when they find out he _isn't_." It seemed entirely too complicated for Kuja's taste, but perhaps that was why _he _was a peasant, and Neirin a prince.

The boy tried to follow the discussions, tried to determine who was who and who wanted what and why, but by the end of the fifth – or fiftieth; he'd lost count – petitioner, Kuja's eyes had grown heavy. Unlike Neirin, his own boredom was no act. He'd thought for sure court life would be more interesting than life in Bran Bal, but in Bran Bal, at least he could have _left_. Because he was a child, no one questioned it when he simply sat down on the floor of the throne room and let his eyes glaze over, losing himself in a world of Sir and Lady Whomevers. The colors streaming in from the stained glass caught his attention, and he daydreamed about adventures, the way he had in the forest…

"Wake up." Reality snapped back into place abruptly, and Kuja looked around. Tiamat had nudged him with one armored foot to rouse him, though Kuja couldn't see why – nothing much had changed. There were still entirely too many people standing in the throne room; Neirin was still picking at his nails; the queen was still sitting regally in her throne. And then Kuja noticed the man standing _before _the throne, the newest petitioner.

He was not richly dressed, as the others had been. He wore only a threadbare hooded cloak, brownish-yellow in color, and rags for clothing underneath. He wore no shoes, but went barefoot, as Kuja himself did. He carried a satchel, though it was unclear what might be concealed within. With the hood of the cloak over his head and his back turned, Kuja couldn't see the man's face, but the hair on the back of his neck rose, as if that hood might conceal some horrendous creature.

"You seem decidedly less well-off this time, Taharka," Neirin said amiably, but he didn't look up from his nails, and Kuja could almost swear the prince had started to slouch lazily on his throne. "I'd almost say you look like a beggar. Have you come to beg? Is your little group doing so poorly?" The crowded room bubbled into nervous laughter, and then fell silent once more. Kuja stood up, his interest piqued. So _this _was the infamous Taharka. He was less imposing than Kuja had imagined, but a man who could send chills up his spine while dressed as a beggar was likely not a man to take lightly.

Taharka lifted his gaze to the throne, and though his face remained hidden, Kuja could hear the smirk in the man's voice, which sounded like velvet rubbed the wrong direction. "It was _you _who said I should humble myself before the throne, was it not, Your Highness? And so I am here," he said, kneeling in a display of mock obeisance. "Humbled before the throne."

Neirin gave a snort of derision, sitting up straighter on his throne. The queen eyed him warily, but said nothing. This was all a game Neirin enjoyed playing, and the entire court knew it – this was not the first time Neirin had done everything he could to frustrate Taharka, nor was it the first time Taharka had called his bluff. For his part, Kuja watched in fascination; what was going to happen? He watched the prince, studying the emotions playing across Neirin's face: amusement, annoyance, and something Kuja couldn't quite identify. It might have been curiosity.

Without waiting for permission, the cultist rose to his feet and reached into his satchel. From it, he drew a scroll. "I have perfected my plan," he said loudly, letting his words echo in the large throne room. Neirin's only response was to arch one silvery eyebrow. Taharka unfurled the scroll, holding it before him. Kuja squinted, trying to see if perhaps he could see through the parchment, but found he could not. He began shifting, circling toward the throne. If the guardians noticed, they made no attempt to stop him. No one else seemed to notice; they were all staring at the activity at the front of the room.

"Terra is dying," Taharka was saying, loudly enough for all to hear. "For the last time. I propose a guardian for her; a guardian who will remain when we inevitably die – a guardian who will see her through to her final fusion, and stand watch to see that _this _time, no further fusion is necessary. An immortal guardian, to produce an immortal Terra!" A clamor rose immediately in the room, full of protests and exclamations. Away from the furious crowd, Kuja had reached the throne by this point, and he sat beside it, almost invisible in its shadow.

From this vantage point, he could see the parchment Taharka held and the design on it: a diagram of what appeared to be a man, with notes scribbled to either side, notes Kuja couldn't read from this distance. Written above the diagram and the notes, in enormous lettering designed to be visible from the other end of the throne room, was the word "GARLAND."

"'Garland,'" Neirin read aloud. "Are you planning to _save _Terra, Taharka, or _decorate _it?" This drew laughter from the crowd, and for once, Taharka's smug façade wavered.

The cultist scowled. "It's a reference to an old folktale," he snapped. "Garland the Shepherd, who watched over his flock even after they had all died in the field. He was rewarded for his devotion when the flock rose to life again, producing more wool than ever before. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it; it's quite famous," he added, trying to salvage some of his lost momentum.

"Did he know the flock would rise again?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and before Kuja even realized he had spoken, all eyes turned toward him, the little boy sitting in the shadow of Neirin's throne. Neirin himself seemed startled, peering down at him. "And just when did you get there?" the prince asked. Kuja stared down at his hands, as his face grew hot.

Taharka seemed infuriated to have been interrupted by the likes of a small child, and he glared dangerously at Kuja. "What difference does it make?" he demanded. "He remained loyal to his flock, when others would have given up, and _that _is the point of the-"

Kuja looked up. "But if he didn't know if the sheep would rise again," he began, cutting off the cultist's words, which only served to further raise Taharka's ire. For his part, Neirin appeared amused and curious, and said nothing to stop him. "He was a fool to watch over them. He would have been losing money, if no wool was produced and he didn't strip the carcasses for meat. A smarter shepherd would've bought new sheep and started raising the new flock to make up for the loss of the old one. So… so he must have known they would rise again," he finished weakly, and looked back at his hands, embarrassed.

A silence settled over the throne room, and then, suddenly, discussion bubbled up among the nobility. Had Garland been a simple fool whose idiocy paid off, or a clever businessman who knew something others could not? Even the guardians seemed lost in the discussion, though perhaps _they _were arguing over how in the world Kuja had managed to get to the throne, and whose fault that was. Taharka was furious. He clutched his parchment tightly – so tightly that small tears appeared. He glared at Kuja, who could not see it, but felt it acutely. Neirin appeared to be contemplating the matter; though Kuja had a feeling the prince was simply savoring the cultist's discomfort. This was likely the first time Taharka had ever been brought low by a mere child.

"Well, Taharka, which is it?" the prince demanded, leaning forward. "Did he _know_? And what of your guardian; I expect _he _should know his flock is going to rise again, wouldn't you think?"

It was a misstep, Kuja realized, though Neirin did not. A look of triumph spread across Taharka's cruel, gaunt face, and he drew a second scroll of parchment from his satchel. "He would know," the cultist said softly. "He would know, because he would be _creating _his new flock, one by one." The new parchment revealed an image of a seed, a fetus, and a child, and more notes, topped by the word "GENOME." Taharka tapped the image of the seed. "Already we have perfected the development of a seed that can be nurtured into a full humanoid being. The seed itself is called _Genome_. It contains the blueprint for eternal life itself – an immortal being, born into the world and developed without a soul of its own. These beings would be able to withstand a merge between Terra and a younger planet, and would receive souls in the process. We have already successfully produced several children using this seed."

To Kuja's surprise, Neirin seemed fascinated by this idea. He was staring at the parchment before him with rapt attention; hanging on Taharka's every word. "And your Garland would be responsible for overseeing the entire project," he mused. After a moment's consideration, he looked up. "And just how do you propose to create Garland himself, then? One of these Genomes of yours?"

Taharka shook his head. "We have already tried. Garland requires a soul. He must be capable of independent thought, problem solving, and learning from mistakes, all of which a soulless being is incapable of… yet he must be able to survive the merge between the two planets, retaining his soul all the while, for of course he will be needed to lead the planet in its newborn phase. A complex problem, you see." Neirin nodded, and Taharka continued. "We have experimented. I won't trouble you with the details, Highness." Kuja saw Lich scowling in the crowd; he didn't need to ask what sort of experiments had taken place. "We have determined that the Genomes lack the amount of power – and the ability to _contain_ the amount of power – that would be necessary to both survive the merge _and _retain the soul. This is why souls would only be granted to the Genomes _after _the merge, for to grant them beforehand would do no good; they would be stripped away by the force of Terra absorbing the new planet. We have determined that in order for Garland to survive, he would need to be a golem created from one of Terra's current citizens."

The room exploded.

This was _madness_, some shouted. Others shouted that this time, Taharka had gone entirely too far. Still others yelled for the rest to be silent; they were intrigued by the promise of apparent power allotted to this "Garland." Kuja, meanwhile, simply wanted to know what _power _Taharka was referring to. Neirin's face had gone perfectly still, as had the queen's. Kuja realized he was holding his breath, waiting for what might come next.

"And how would you go about making one of Terra's current citizens immortal, Taharka?" Neirin asked softly, an edge of warning in his voice, mixed with something not unlike interest, for who _wouldn't _be intrigued by the possibility of immortality? The room fell silent once more, awaiting the answer.

Taharka, who had remained impassive throughout the outburst from the crowd, referred once more to the diagram he'd drawn up for "Garland." "All organs pertinent to digestion and reproduction would be removed," Taharka began, pointing to the diagram, where sure enough, the man displayed an empty cavity where his organs would have been. "For these processes will be useless and damaging. He won't need nourishment as mortals do; all energy will be supplied from a core of pure magic energy, contained in the empty abdominal cavity." Once more he reached into the satchel, this time drawing forth a small sphere of what appeared to be glass or crystal, with a prism contained within. "This is the core. It contains no power now, of course; it will be active only when in use."

"Only when it's tucked snugly in the gaping abdominal cavity of this Garland, you mean," Neirin interjected.

Taharka ignored him. "The core serves to power the survival organs: the heart, the lungs, the brain. They will never cease to function. The body will age naturally; we've not yet found a solution to combat oxidation, but we _do _have a solution to the loss of strength and mobility. A suit of specially-crafted armor will serve to keep the body upright and functional despite muscular atrophy and the absence of supporting abdominal muscles. We have already begun creating prototypes of this armor." He shrugged. "The armor was too cumbersome to bring with me, so you must take my word for its existence." He placed the inactive energy core back in the satchel; his speech was complete.

Neirin, however, wasn't finished with him. "I don't suppose you have a candidate in mind for this," he mused, glaring at Taharka. "It seems silly to have gone to all this trouble without having someone in mind for the project." He knew, Kuja realized. He _knew _who Taharka had in mind. A terrifying suspicion filled the boy, and he felt it creeping along his spine like the insect Tiamat had claimed Taharka was.

The cultist smiled like a cat. "Of course I have someone in mind, Highness." He began slowly winding the scrolls of parchment, one curl at a time. "I never do anything without thinking it through completely. Garland must be crafted from someone with immense power, for how else would he survive? And someone young, of course, to reduce the damages of aging. I thought a great deal about it, and in the end, I concluded that the only possible candidate was _you, _Neirin."

If for a moment Taharka's plan had stood a chance, that chance was quite utterly ruined now. Neirin's expression darkened, and the queen's hands clenched into fists, still folded over her prim gown. Neirin rose like a thundercloud, and Kuja shrank back. Taharka didn't have the sense to do the same.

"If you think," Neirin began, his voice low and dangerous. "Even for a _moment, _you spectacular fool, that I would submit to your suicidal scheme, then what you suggest is nothing short of treason, and I will not stand for it." He was going to order Taharka's execution, Kuja realized; the guardians had been right. He _had _gone entirely too far this time. Of course Neirin would kill him. He was dangerous. Kuja allowed himself to relax; the danger would be gone soon. Neirin opened his mouth, presumably to give the order…

"You are exiled from the mother continent."

Neirin froze, and looked at his mother in shock, and Kuja couldn't blame him. _Exile?_ She was ordering Taharka's _exile_, when the cultist had as much as _declared _that he intended to murder the prince? What was she thinking? She did not meet Neirin's stunned gaze, nor did she betray her own emotions. "You are exiled," she repeated. "And by order of the crown, if you or your agents are found on this continent again, you will be executed on sight. No trial, no second chance. Be gone." That did little to satisfy Neirin, that much was obvious, but what truly disturbed Kuja was the expression on Taharka's face as he left.

He was smiling.

* * *

**Author's Note: **And so begins the actual _plot_, omigod. See you next week, when Maliris scowls, Neirin is a snob, and Kuja is confused and fascinated. Lookit me making crazy predictions! Why, I'm practically psychic!


	4. A Mother's Unrest

**Author's Note: **So yeah, the site crapped out last week, but I hope all of you got to see the chapter, all the same. Midnight the Black Fox, welcome to the fic; I hope you continue to enjoy it! And yes, Pip, Taharka is both ballsy and backhanded, and yes, Kuja's curiosity is probably going to get him into some fantastically wonderful places.

On with chapter four!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Four: A Mother's Unrest**

"Exile," Neirin spat, pacing furiously up and down the hallway outside his own bedchamber under the watchful eyes of his Guardians. He had been pacing for the better part of an hour now, following the events in the throne room. "The bastard wants to carve out my intestines, and she _exiles _him!" From where he sat, tucked into a branching hallway, Kuja simply watched in silent shock. He wasn't completely sure he understood what was happening, but no one saw fit to explain it to him. Indeed, it rather seemed as if everyone had forgotten about him completely – he'd only followed Neirin and his guardians because he had no further desire to stay in the throne room, but no one had acknowledged him. He supposed that might be a good thing. After all, everyone else was _angry _now, and it would do him no good to have that anger turned on him.

"You mark my words, he'll be back within a month, and he'll be right back to his old schemes. _Killed on sight_ my left foot; he's too damn sneaky to allow himself to be _seen_; we won't know he's around until he's carving me out-"

It was Lich who cut him off. "The queen must have had some reason for choosing exile over death. Did it occur to you to ask her?" Something told Kuja the prince didn't speak to his mother very often; the expression on Neirin's face suggested that _no, _it _hadn't _occurred to him to ask her. He hadn't spoken two words to her before storming out of the throne room, and if he'd wondered about her reasoning for doing as she had, he certainly hadn't asked her. Neirin looked away guiltily, and as he did so, his gaze settled on Kuja. Instinctively, Kuja ducked his head, hoping to avoid being noticed.

No such luck.

"Well, look who tagged along," Neirin mused aloud. "It seems I'm off to visit my dearest mother, and I do hate to call on people alone. Come along…" He floundered for the name a moment. "Kuja. Yes. Come along, Kuja. I expect the queen will have all manner of questions for and about you, anyway."

xxx

Her chambers were lavish here, though she preferred the simpler elegance of her rooms at the castle. Queen Bellanna stood before her mirror, plucking out the glittering nonsensical decorations her maids liked to weave into her hair. She allowed them to put the silly things in, but she enjoyed the right to take them _out _herself. They sat on the table before the mirror, shining – jewels and feathers and silver, all put toward making her look like a shining beacon of something or other. They made her look younger, or so her maids told her, and Bellanna chose to believe them. It might even be true. She had good blood, after all, and she wasn't old at all in truth, and the years had been kind to her… but the death of her husband and the weight of the kingdom's affairs sat heavily on her and dragged her ever more toward old age. And so she accepted the use of glittering hair ornaments as a way to make her look younger, though internally she felt so much older than her age. Now more than ever.

"He'll understand someday," she assured her reflection, when all of the ornaments were gone. "Neirin will understand someday." Her hair was silvery, and she wondered how much of that was from the stress of ruling, and how much of it was still her natural silver hair. Well. She smiled privately, and admired how different her reflection looked when she smiled; she _did _look younger then. Well. In only a few years, Neirin would come of age, and she would no longer _need _to worry about the stress of ruling – Neirin would take over the responsibility, and Bellanna could go back to the life she had enjoyed under his father's rule. Despite being of royal birth, she had never longed to hold the throne, herself, and so she had married early.

The life of a queen while a king held the throne was one of gaiety and frivolity; Bellanna had been a fashionable young queen with the newest and best of everything, and the women of the court had scrambled to keep up with her changing styles, for whatever the queen wore _was _the style of the day. And she could go riding again; she had missed it – either on a dragon or horse, it made no difference. She had taught Neirin to ride, and for the longest time, they had gone on dragon-flights together… but then the king had died so suddenly, and Bellanna found herself with no time for excursions.

And no time to talk to her son.

Not that it mattered, of course, for Neirin made little effort to talk with her, either. She loved him as much as she ever had, of course, for a mother's love never fades, but Neirin himself had become distant after his father's death. And _that _was confusing, for though the king had been proud of the boy, they had never been close. The father had been too busy for the son, and the son had been too carefree to trouble himself with the father, and so they had never bonded… so why had Neirin distanced himself from _her_? Was she, too, too busy for him, as his father had been? Perhaps it was _her _who was doing something odd; perhaps she had distanced _herself_ without ever knowing she did so. But she was a good mother, she was sure of it. Neirin, for all his careless, flighty nature, was a good boy, and when he grew up and matured a bit, he would make a good king. He had turned out well. Bellanna was a good mother. Perhaps she just wasn't as good a mother as she _should _have been.

She looked away from the mirror, weary of her own face. She wanted to leave this manor, as she used to – on the back of a dragon, soaring high above the forests of Bran Bal, racing ahead of her harassed guards, letting the wind whip through her while she laughed through watering eyes. What had become of that free spirit? Bellanna reached for her now, and found her missing. The free spirit now wore a crown, and for all the authority that crown afforded her, it came with heavy chains, as well. The queen's heart sank, and her brave smile faltered. Even when Neirin sat the throne, she knew, she would still be bound by those chains. Terra's eyes had turned to her now, as they never had before. If she acted like the foolish pretty child she so wanted to be, they would notice now where they had never noticed during his father's rule, and as a consequence Neirin's rule would be tarnished by her behavior. She would sooner die than blemish her son's credibility.

But what if she had blemished it _today_?

"He will understand," she repeated to the quiet room, but her voice sounded less certain to her ears. She would have gladly executed Taharka for threatening the life of her son, but the cult he led was vast, and growing in popularity. Even if Taharka fell, another just like him would rise, if Taharka hadn't already begun training his own replacement. Bellanna felt she understood the cultist's methods. She would much sooner tangle with a threat she _understood _than have to adapt to a new threat – and with Taharka banished, the cult could take root far away from the mother continent, securing Neirin's safety. Let them carry out their mad, demonic schemes and experiments. As long as Neirin remained unharmed and unthreatened, Taharka could keep his life. It was meaningless enough, anyway.

"Mother?"

The voice jolted Bellanna out of her reverie, and she gasped with surprised joy. "Neirin!" she exclaimed, overjoyed that he had come to visit her at last… only to remember somewhat belatedly that it was entirely likely that he was wroth with her. He would ask her to explain herself. She drew herself up, going over the words in her head. She would win him back now, she had to. Neirin was still her son, she was still his mother, and that was a bond that could never be severed, and once he heard her _reasoning, _surely he would understand everything. He would understand. _He would understand_.

Neirin stepped into the room, and Bellanna was startled to realize he wasn't alone. A young boy of perhaps eight or ten trailed after him, standing awkwardly in the doorway. _The boy from the throne room, _the queen realized. She'd wondered where he'd come from. Indeed, she _still _wondered where he'd come from. The boy simply stared at his toes, occasionally glancing curiously up at her.

"I expect you know why I've decided to pay you a visit," Neirin said, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at her. Bellanna did not flinch under that glare. She was a queen, and there was iron at her core. She had expected this, and she would not appear uncertain or intimidated.

She drew a deep breath. He would understand. "We know what Taharka is after now. We can block him at every turn. If we execute him, how much time will pass before another leader like Taharka arises, perhaps a more dangerous one? If we allow the center of his cult's power to remain on the mother continent, how long will it be before it dominates us? Better to exile him, to put him out of view of the people of this continent. Let him rot far from us. But even if he remains here, _we can block him_, Neirin. If he can't get to you, he can't use you, and the royal city is secure. He can't reach you there." Her voice held steady through it all, and she remained strong – no matter how she may question herself, Bellanna was not weak, not when strength and decisiveness were necessary. "And if he's found on this continent, you will have your wish; Taharka will be executed. But I will not risk a worse enemy in exchange for one we understand."

The hand was played, but how would Neirin take it? Bellanna fought the urge to beg – to beg him to understand; to beg him to come back and be her son again; to beg him to see that all she did, she did for him. His face remained unreadable, and to her credit, so did hers. Neither of them showed any sign of weakening, but the queen felt her resolve crumbling.

"It'll work if he actually leaves the continent." Bellanna blinked, looking toward the boy standing in the doorway, who was now looking right at her. He had bright green eyes, she noticed absently – there was an old wives' tale that claimed green eyes signified the ability to always see the truth. She'd never put much stock in it, but now, she rather hoped it was true. She gestured for the boy to come to her. At first, he balked, ducking back as if he expected Bellanna might strike him, but then, he inched forward slowly, like an uncertain animal approaching a human for the first time. What an odd boy.

When he'd finally reached her, Bellanna knelt, studying him more closely. He was dressed poorly. An orphan, most likely… but what was he doing in the manor? "Hello," she said simply, and he flinched, before quickly sketching out a sloppy bow and stammering a greeting of his own. The queen looked up at Neirin; she certainly wasn't going to get the boy to talk, terrified as he was. "Neirin. Who is this?"

"An orphan from Bran Bal." He shrugged. "His name is Kuja. He might not look particularly impressive, but he tried to save me from my own guardians and nearly died for it. Besides," he added. "He's passing clever. I'm sure you noticed how he toppled Taharka for a moment."

So the boy amused Neirin. It was just as she'd expected; Neirin was always taking in odd pets, though this was the first time he'd taken in something that wasn't an animal. Bellanna fought the urge to groan. It was easy enough to release an animal back into the wild when Neirin grew bored of it, but it would be far less simple to deal with a child. She supposed she could find him a place among the castle servants, but if this were done against the boy's will… it would be no better than taking a slave. But she could hardly release a _child _into the wild; orphan or no, she could not abandon a child. Perhaps… she would simply have to wait and see. Perhaps Neirin _wouldn't_ grow bored with the boy. She'd always intended to give him a brother, after all. Maybe this was fate's way of giving her what nature could not.

"Kuja, then." She smiled at the boy, who continued to appear completely terrified. Bellanna was, of course, the first queen he had ever seen, and of course he didn't want to end up in the crossfire between the queen and Neirin, whom the queen supposed the boy idolized for taking him in. She tried again. "Kuja, my name is Bellanna. Allow me to welcome you personally to my manor." The boy looked up at her then, startled. It was a start. "We'll leave for the royal city in two days, but in the meantime, you are granted full freedom of the manor. You may go wherever you wish." Technically, he'd always _had _that right (he was no prisoner, after all), but she thought it might help ease his terror just the slightest bit to hear it.

Neirin laughed. "Did you hear that, boy? You're free as a bird." With that, he swept the queen a quick bow, then left the room. Kuja stared after him a moment, then dashed after him, fleeing from Bellanna as if she might devour him if left alone. The queen sighed, smiling. She would have to convince him she was harmless; who _knew _what Neirin had told the poor boy?

It wasn't until several moments later that Bellanna realized Neirin had managed to weasel out of the room without truly accepting her explanation. She looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. He was a good boy, but he would never admit he was wrong; he was as stubborn as his father had been. It didn't matter. As far as the queen was concerned, his silence and the lack of a continued argument meant he _had _accepted her explanation. Neirin would carry a grudge forever if he thought he was in the right – and he did so often enough. It had been clever of him, though, to bring the boy with him. He must have known she'd be distracted, distracted enough for him to slip away without ever so much as acknowledging her plan.

_But I'd have never noticed the boy if he hadn't spoken up,_ she mused, frowning. Perhaps Neirin had known _that,_ too. Kuja seemed to have a habit of speaking up at opportune moments. Bellanna laughed quietly, shaking her head. Whatever the heavens had in store for Kuja, it was sure to be an interesting road to get there. She only hoped she'd get the chance to see it before Neirin grew bored of him.

"Your majesty, a message." Her handmaiden swept in, carrying a letter, folded and sealed with wax. Bellanna frowned; she didn't recognize the seal. Still, she took the letter and broke the seal, unsurprised to find she didn't recognize the hand in which the letter had been written. The words were brief, clearly written in haste, but they nearly stopped the queen's heart, all the same:

_Your Majesty the Queen Bellanna:_

_Your son's life remains at risk. I can offer you aid. Come to Traje's theatre at midnight, five days from today. Come alone, for I would not have my identity compromised, nor yours as you travel. Ask for the Paragon and you will be led to me._

_- A friend_

"'Your son's life remains at risk,'" Bellanna whispered. Could it possibly be that Taharka hadn't yet left the continent… or perhaps he didn't intend to leave at all? '_A friend,' _she thought, staring at the signature. _I can only hope this 'friend' can help._ Or that they were who they claimed to be. Bellanna was not so naïve as to assume anyone who called himself a friend _was _a friend, simply by virtue of saying so. But if there was a chance, any small chance, that she could have an ally in this 'Paragon,' then…

Five days would see her in the royal city of Traje, and it would be easy enough to escape from the castle unnoticed, but Bellanna had no interest in going _alone_; that was idiocy. If this Paragon wasn't what he claimed to be, she wouldn't be caught off her guard. Besides, as was true of all Terrans descended directly from the First Kings, Bellanna could wield powerful magic, however little practice she had at doing so. She was no delicate flower, powerless in the face of a threat. Perhaps she didn't hold the same control over the elements as her ancestors once had, but should the situation demand it, she could defend herself. Maybe, just in case, she ought to carry a weapon of some kind – a small knife would do. And yes, she would bring guards with her. Only two, so as not to "compromise her identity."

All that remained now was to wait for the return to the city. Bellanna sat on her bed, eyeing her mirror. _Ask for the Paragon, _she thought. _All I ask is for safety.

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **Who is the Paragon? Where the hell were the Guardians during the second half of this chapter? What fun awaits Kuja in the royal city of Traje? Tune in next week, when I may or may not answer some or none of these questions!


	5. The Royal City

**Author's Note:** Because I love you all so much, here, have a double-sized chapter (because I really, really want to get the plot started sometime before chapter ten)! And to answer another review-question, yes, I made up the green-eyes old wives' tale all by myself. Please don't hesitate to ask any other questions you may have, because I really do like answering questions about my crazy fanon. Also! Leife, I think I meant to welcome you to the fic last chapter, but forgot, so welcome to the fic; I hope you continue to enjoy it!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Five: The Royal City**

The queen was not at all what Kuja had expected. Based on the woman he'd seen in the throne room, he'd expected her to be harsh, unyielding, perhaps even cruel… but she seemed sad, for all her strength. He glanced behind him as he followed Neirin (closely, so as not to become lost in the winding hallways once again) away from her chambers, wishing he'd thought to ask what was troubling her. It wasn't any of his business, but she might've liked to know someone _wanted _to know. Maybe. What Kuja didn't quite understand, however, was why the prince seemed to dislike her – she seemed more than capable of ruling, and as far as he could tell, she seemed to like Neirin well enough. And he knew better than to ask Neirin why.

"Spoke with the queen, did you?" Tiamat was leaning against a wall, grinning. "And what'd she have to say about our favorite insect? Why didn't she swat him when she had the chance?"

Neirin glowered as he stalked past the man, Kuja trailing in his wake. Tiamat fell into step with the boy, ruffling his hair as he did so. Kuja flinched away; he wasn't a _pet_. "She claims she's preventing the rise of a more powerful enemy," Neirin seethed, the good humor he'd displayed before the queen now thoroughly gone. "As if I couldn't just as easily put another enemy to death. I could kill them myself! I could kill _Taharka _myself; I have the power to do it!" Kuja gazed at him quizzically. Another mention of 'power,' just as Taharka had said – magic. But magic was all make-believe; it was only something from the stories… wasn't it? Taharka and Neirin both seemed to believe it existed, but…

"No one's said or saying you couldn't," Tiamat said, punctuating his words with a shrug. "But we're not likely to let him back into the castle again, are we? We've got free license to kill him the next time we see him, and you can bet we'd have fun doing it." The prince seemed unfazed by his guardian's words, but they served to comfort Kuja just the slightest bit. Tiamat was strong enough to kill Taharka, surely, and he was now obligated to do so. With his guardians to keep watch over him, Neirin was perfectly safe… and though he'd not yet seen the castle, he was certain it was much more secure than this manor.

…The _castle_.

In only a matter of days, he would be in a _castle! _If the manor had come as a shock, how in the world was he going to adjust to a castle? In the stories, castles were always enormous and extravagant… or enormous and terrifying, but Kuja was prepared to assume the seat of power on the mother continent was elegant and awe-inspiring. And what was the royal city even like? He'd heard of Traje, but only very little – it was too high-class for the likes of most of Bran Bal's wandering citizens. It was a city of extremes, as far as he could tell, in that its citizens were either at the top of the social ladder or dangling from the bottom rung, but according to the few people who _had _been there, it was a beautiful city. And now, Kuja would be able to see it for himself; something unimaginable to an orphan from a pitifully small pastoral village.

He wanted to ask Neirin and Tiamat what the city was like, but they were now deep in a heated argument over the queen's intentions, and he was left alone with his imagination. And, left alone, his imagination ran wild. Dragon races, Neirin had said; there were dragon races. Where would the dragons race…? So of course the city had to be enormous, to allow room for the dragons to race. And there would have to be some kind of track for them, possibly in the center of the city. Yes. …But if the _dragon races _were in the center of the city, where would the castle be? So the races couldn't be in the center of the city, no, the castle had to be. And around the castle would be… the track. Yes. The castle had to be in the center of the track; that way, both of the city's main attractions could be in precisely the same place, as made sense. And the castle itself would be…

"He's off in the clouds again," Tiamat commented, jerking his head back toward the boy, and Neirin laughed.

"Don't interrupt. I get the feeling some of his best ideas happen when he's like this." The prince sighed. "If only we could all take the time to daydream… tell me, what plans are in store for our return to the city?"

The guardian seemed surprised. "Already? We're not due back for several days-"

"I know," Neirin waved him off. "But I'm already sick of this pitiful speck of a manor, and my vacation is ruined besides. I want to begin to prepare for the trip home, and I want to know what I ought to expect."

"You'll have to ask Lich." Tiamat shrugged. "Hell if I know what's going on. No one includes me in any plans." He grinned again; everyone knew he wasn't included purely because he wasn't concerned with plans. He wasn't much for planning things out; Tiamat was a man of action. He much preferred to simply be told what to do precisely when it was time for him to do it.

Behind them, Kuja looked up, lifted from his thoughts. "How long will it take to get to the city?" he asked. He hoped it would be a long trip; he'd never traveled before, and the thought of seeing many new places all at once…! He was disappointed, then, when Neirin informed him, "Not long at all. Only a day or two, and that's only if my mother decides to take her sweet time." The boy pouted slightly, and the prince laughed yet again.

"I expect you'll be less disappointed by the time you've been on the road for a day or two."

xxx

The next few days passed quickly – almost _too _quickly, in the boy's opinion, though he'd never admit it. At first, he spent much of his time trailing after Neirin, but that lost his interest after a very short time, because as far as he could tell, Neirin spent most of his days holding court in the throne room, and none of the people who approached the throne held Kuja's interest for very long. Instead, he began stalking after the servants' children, some of whom were around his own age. Eventually he befriended one or two of them, though the rest regarded him as little more than an oddity. They showed him some of the manor's secrets, like the hidden passageway that led from the servants' quarters to the unused guest chambers. Through giggles and blushes, the children informed him that the passage had been built long ago, when a young princess had fallen in love with one of the servants, and of course they wanted a way for the servant to slip unnoticed into the princess's bedroom. Kuja thought it was a ridiculously disappointing reason to build a secret passageway, but the servants assured him that the _castle _had _far _more interesting passageways and tunnels, some of which crossed the entire continent.

Kuja couldn't wait to get to the castle and, hopefully, see some of these tunnels for himself. He explored the manor's passageway, and it was interesting enough – it was rough-hewn into the thick stone of the manor walls and very narrow, but clearly some thought had gone into it, for there were stairs here and there where there might have been a steep drop otherwise. In some places Kuja could tell where he was, such as when he smelled food and knew he must be near the kitchen, but in other places, it was easy to become lost and turned-around. Surprisingly, in some places, the tunnel branched, where Kuja would have expected it to be a straight road to the servants' quarters. Elisi, an older girl he had become friends with, informed him that the servant had made certain he had _several_ routes to take, just in case one of the routes might be discovered or detected.

Again, Kuja felt this was a disappointing reason to complicate a secret passageway, but at least it gave him more areas to explore. He tried telling Neirin about the tunnel the night before they left, but of course the prince already knew. "Everyone knows about that tunnel," he said simply, shrugging. "The lovers were discovered, of course. The princess was sent to work at the All-Seeing God's temple, and the servant was dismissed from service. Some say they met again, but who can say? It makes for a very romantic story, though." Kuja disagreed; he thought it was foolish of the two to throw everything away for the sake of love, but then again, he'd never been in love, himself. Neirin, on the other hand, got the same ridiculous far-away look in his eye as Elisi did when she spoke of the servant and princess, and this made Kuja roll his eyes. He hoped he never acted like that.

"You should get to bed," Neirin yawned, settling back against his pillows. "We're leaving early; as early as my mother can drag herself out of bed." The boy lit up just a bit; he was finally going to see the castle! By now, having asked around, he had a perfect image in his mind of what the castle _must _look like, though he hadn't thought to ask where the dragons raced. No matter; he'd find out soon enough. He dressed for bed as quickly as he could (the sooner he slept, the sooner he'd awake, and the sooner they'd be in Traje!), and headed for the door – because of course he slept in the servants' quarters – when a thought occurred to him.

He glanced back at Neirin. "What's happening when we get back to the city?"

"Hm?" The prince looked at him, nonplussed.

"You asked Tiamat what… what the plans were for when you got back to the city?"

"Oh!" Neirin laughed, and bounced out of bed. "Why, there's always a celebration when we return to the castle, of course; some sort of absurd display of gaiety and wealth and such. The entire city goes mad for it. Apparently, this time, there's some sort of costumed affair in store the night of our return." Kuja wasn't sure what he'd expected, but his disappointment must have been obvious. "Oh, don't pout," the prince continued. "You're invited, of course."

Of course.

xxx

The next morning dawned clear and cool, and the servants all spoke of how this was "perfect traveling weather." Kuja looked around blearily as everyone rushed about, gathering trunks and the like. No one had told him to do anything in particular, and he wasn't about to volunteer at this ungodly hour; the sun wasn't even all the way up yet. Neirin seemed wide awake, though, prowling around and barking orders. The cook scurried after him, begging him to eat _something _before starting off. Had it not been so early, Kuja might have found it humorous, but as it was, he simply wished one or both of them would be quieter. He dozed off where he stood once or twice, only to be rudely awakened when one of the servants bumped into him. Eventually he tucked himself into a corner where he wouldn't be harassed, and had every intention of sleeping… and then the queen appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly the servants _needed _his corner in order to have somewhere to put the queen's belongings.

"No rest for the lazy," said Kraken, when she saw him. "If no one else gets to sleep, neither do you. You can sleep when we're on the road." Despite her scolding, she was compassionate enough to make sure he was fed before they left… and then assured him that _this _time, he'd have his own harness.

"You mean… you mean we're flying there?" Kuja asked, looking up from his breakfast, startled. He hadn't quite recovered from the _last _flight; he wasn't ready for another one.

Kraken laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Of course. Neirin hates riding on horseback, he says it takes too long to get anywhere, and that horses _smell_. God forbid he should have to ride anything that smells." Well, this journey was officially taking a turn for the worse. Neirin's stomach turned, and he found he couldn't eat anything else, if indeed he could keep down his _current _food. A day or two, the prince had said. A day or two on the back of a dragon wasn't something Kuja thought he was prepared to endure, proper harness or no.

Prepared or not, he soon found himself standing outside in the morning mist, watching some stable-workers lead out the dragons. To his surprise, they weren't the Crested Royals he had first flown on, but rather, an assortment of different types. "The Cresteds belong to the manor," Kraken explained, gesturing to these new dragons. "They're ours to use while we're here, but like Neirin told you, they're built for speed – they don't have the stamina for long flights. These dragons actually belong to us." She smiled proudly. "The big greenish-black one there, that's my Erebea. She's a big, strong girl, just like me." She laughed, and Erebea roared in her direction, clearly recognizing the sound. Kuja smiled, despite himself. "And that little red snappy thing over there belongs to Maliris, naturally; she calls him Biter, for obvious reasons." Sure enough, the small dragon seemed hell-bent on biting at every unfortunate stablehand who happened to get within snapping distance. "She loves the thing, I can't imagine why. The ugly black one is Tiamat's, and he doesn't have a name for it; he thinks it's foolish to name a mount. And of course, that tired-looking old swayback is Lich's Earthson, and I don't think _anyone _knows how old that thing is."

"And what about those two?" Kuja pointed to the two dragons the stablehands were currently leading out. They were pure white, shining in the morning sun, with red around their eyes and along the tips of their wings. They were quite possibly the most majestic creatures he'd ever seen, though that didn't mean he was any less uninterested in riding them.

Kraken whistled. "Those are silver dragons, boy, and you're not likely to see them out of the hands of the nobility. They're only bred in captivity. Pretty docile breed, but they're fiercely protective – they'll take on something three times their own size if their master's threatened. Besides, they're pretty," she added. "And they complement the royal family nicely, with their silver feathers. Which is, I figure, why Neirin and Bellanna like them so much." So he _would_ be riding one of those, Kuja thought, his heart (and stomach) sinking. Kraken studied his expression, then laughed. "They're also relatively smooth in flight, and not too terribly fast. They're not racers, they're travelers, bred for a long flight. And they're not going to drop you. They're the safest dragons _to _fly." That was all well and good, but the boy wasn't quite convinced – pretty they may be, but they would still be carrying him high enough above the ground to be worrisome.

The guardians began strapping on their own harness gear, and Kraken assisted Kuja with his. It was heavier than he'd expected, but perhaps it would serve to weigh him down and keep him on the dragon. Meanwhile, Neirin and the queen had servants to help them with their riding gear, and Kuja was struck by how odd it was to see the queen in traveling clothes. She was dressed like a man, and while that wasn't particularly odd on the likes of Kraken or Maliris, it seemed _bizarre _that the queen should dress that way. Still, she seemed almost happy now – she was smiling and chatting amiably with Neirin, and surprisingly enough, the prince seemed to be more than happy to talk with her. Perhaps they both enjoyed dragon flights. The boy smiled; it was nice to see the queen happy again.

And then, entirely too suddenly, it was time to get on the dragons. Kuja trudged unwillingly to where Neirin waited, and allowed himself to be hoisted into the harness. The prince himself saw to it that all of the straps and buckles were cinched tightly, and then he hopped up gracefully behind him. Across the field, Kuja saw some of the servants' children eyeing him jealously; they'd never flown on a dragon, and they'd be riding to the city with all of the trunks and such in wagons. Kuja wished he could trade places with them. He'd never ridden a horse before, but he was fairly certain it was probably less terrifying than the back of a dragon.

Around them, the guardians were taking flight, one by one. This time, the boy was prepared for the dust from their takeoff, but he still found himself coughing and sneezing as the dust swirled around them. He watched, eyes watering, as the guardians began to circle overhead, and then, the silver dragons' wings spread out. The queen took off first, launching into the air in a rush of air, dust, and silvery feathers. She drifted far to the side of the guardians' circle, then picked up circling in the opposite direction. Kuja braced himself as he felt their own dragon's muscles beginning to tense. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, the dragon's wings slammed down, and they rushed up into the sky to join the others. The air rushed around them, and the dragon roared loudly as it swept into the same circle as the queen's dragon. Kuja watched, amazed, as the four guardians' dragons flew past in the opposite direction, before sweeping out into the familiar diamond pattern.

And then things became terrifying. The queen's dragon spiraled upwards, and Neirin's spiraled down, and Kuja couldn't help screaming as the dragon turned _upside-down_. Neirin responded to this by laughing. It was, Kuja decided, going to be a very, very long couple of days. The silver dragons righted themselves and settled into flying side-by-side; the spiraling was only a useful method for pulling themselves out of the circle. This would be explained to Kuja much, much later, but at that moment, he chose to believe it was nothing more than a cruel trick, and he sat trembling in the harness. Neirin said something, but the boy couldn't hear it over the sound of his own pounding heartbeat.

Nearby, the queen was laughing, her long hair flying out behind her as the dragons picked up speed. Kuja wished he shared her enthusiasm; _he_ only wanted to land, and soon.

The hours passed slowly, and Kuja spent most of them with his eyes closed and his nails sinking into the leather of his harness. Sometime around sunset, however, Neirin shook him to get his attention, and the boy opened his eyes cautiously – were they at the city yet? Instead of the city, however, Neirin was pointing toward a monstrous floating… thing. Kuja stared at it as they flew past, and he felt himself trembling again. It was a building gone to rust. There were machines that obviously no longer functioned, and a massive tower rising from the center of the crumbling building. Everywhere there seemed to be floating trees, likely planted to decorate the structure in its prime. The entire scene reminded him of death, but he felt strangely drawn to it – there _had _to be some kind of adventure waiting in a place like that!

"It's a relic from a past cycle," Neirin was shouting next to his ear. "No one knows what it's for, or who built it, but it's one of a kind – a floating castle. No one knows what it was called back in its heyday, but nowadays people just call it Pandemonium."

_Pandemonium_. Even after they'd passed it, Kuja kept looking back at it, trying to imagine what purpose it had served, until the sun went down and he could no longer see it against the black sky.

xxx

They flew through the night, only stopping briefly to allow the dragons to rest their wings. Kuja slept in the harness as they flew, and he suspected Neirin did the same, as well as several of the guardians – the dragons obviously knew the way home. And then, not long after the sun came up, all six dragons roared at once, and Neirin laughed, pointing ahead. They had reached Traje.

It was nothing like Kuja had expected.

It was so, so much better.

The castle rose from the center of the city, a spiraling tower carved from some sort of blue crystal. At the top was a sculpture of an eye, no doubt a nod to He-Who-Sees-All, from whom the royal family drew their authority. The city itself seemed to emerge from the castle, for it seemed as if the castle itself was connected to the rest of the city. The buildings were large and elegant, carved from the same blue crystal, and the city itself sprawled outward, as far as the eye could see. Kuja found it hard to believe it was all one city, but if Terra had to have a capitol city, it may as well be this beautiful, enormous metropolis. One thing seemed to be missing, however.

"Where do the dragons race?" he asked, yelling over his shoulder.

"Above the city," Neirin yelled back, pointing above the buildings, where several small, odd-looking structures floated, clearly intended for seating. "It's the only place large enough!" Well, that answered _that_. And no sooner had the question been answered than the dragons began their descent, while cheers rose from below. Kuja looked down, startled to see several small crowds gathered in the streets below, despite the early hour. Neirin and the queen both leaned over to wave at their people, but Kuja chose instead to sit back up; looking down had been a very, very bad idea. His head spun, and he closed his eyes again, waiting for the dragon to touch the earth again. He was _not,_ he decided, fond of flying.

When at last the dragons landed, Kuja opened his eyes to find himself inside the castle… or, rather, on a large balcony clearly designed specifically for dragons. Neirin dismounted behind him, and Kuja attempted to discover exactly how to take off his own gear, but for the life of him, it seemed entirely too complicated, a nest of leather straps and buckles. Luckily, Neirin remembered him long enough to help him out of the harness, before immediately forgetting about him and striding off to greet the herd of servants who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The balcony erupted into a flurry of activity, with the servants greeting and bowing to the queen and prince, the guardians dismounting and barking orders to see to the care of the dragons, and the balcony servants rushing to obey the orders. In the midst of it all, Kuja was utterly lost, simply allowing himself to be shoved about by the various servants whose way he managed to keep finding himself in. No one had told him what _he _was meant to be doing, and he could no longer see Neirin to tag along after him. Maliris's dragon snapped at him once, and that was enough for him; he knew he needed to get off of the balcony.

He scurried through the enormous doors leading into the castle, only mildly surprised to find a dragon stable on the other side of the doors. Most of the stalls were empty, likely awaiting the dragons that had only just arrived, but several silver dragons were sleeping in their spacious stalls, unconcerned by the chaos outside. Kuja made his way through the stable, only to be confronted by several doors at the other side. He peeked through each door, unsurprised to find nothing to direct him toward his eventual destination… which was just as well, because he had no idea where he meant to go. To find Neirin, most likely, but where would Neirin be?

Well, this was going to be fun.

Kuja squared his shoulders and reached for the door directly in front of him – it couldn't hurt, could it, to look around? – when a hand rested on his shoulder. He jumped and yelped, staggering back into his assailant, who caught him easily. He looked up, wide-eyed, and was even _more _terrified to discover he had fallen into the _queen_. The boy stood quickly and managed an awkward bow, after which he nearly fell over. The queen laughed, reaching out to keep him from tumbling over a second time. Kuja stared. She really was quite pretty, despite the fact that her hair was tangled and her face was red from the wind. She looked so much younger now than she had in the throne room of the manor, almost too young to be Neirin's mother, though not quite.

"I expect Neirin left you behind," she guessed, and he accomplished a small nod in reply. He couldn't seem to speak. "Well, he can't have gotten far. Let's go find him." She offered a hand, complete with a heavy signet ring, and Kuja stared at the hand for a moment before taking it gingerly. _Bellanna,_ she'd said her name was. Queen Bellanna. She led him through a door (not the door he'd been about to open, of course), and through the hallway. "The castle is rife with illusions, so don't be fooled," she was saying. "Most of these hallways lead to precisely the same place, and others are dead ends. It's all to protect us in the event of an attack, I suppose, but I'd rather have an easily-navigated castle and take my chances with intruders. Either way, I expect you'll learn your way around soon enough." She gave him a warm smile, and he tried to smile back, but failed miserably.

Several long, winding hallways and spiral stairwells later, they reached what Bellanna said were Neirin's chambers. They were extravagant to say the least, and Kuja was left reeling by the explosion of colors. Together he and Bellanna wandered through the rooms, seeking out the missing prince. He liked the queen, he decided, regardless of what Neirin thought, and he thought she _might _like him well enough; she certainly didn't seem to mind him. Perhaps she just needed a friend, and perhaps he could _be _that friend. The next time she looked at him, he did manage a smile, which made her smile back and squeeze his hand. Was this what it was like to have a mother, he wondered? As soon as the thought occurred to him, he blushed and looked away. Bellanna wasn't _his _mother, and he had no right to pretend she was.

Still…

"There you are!" the queen chirped, when at last they stumbled upon Neirin. He was obviously preparing to take a bath, which wasn't surprising, given the long journey. He looked at them, obviously confused by their arrival. "I found poor Kuja lost in the stable," she continued, unconcerned by her son's confusion. "He doesn't know his way around, you know; you ought to take better care of him." Kuja chewed on his lip, looking between Neirin and Bellanna. He hoped there wasn't going to be a fight. He wasn't sure he could choose between the two, and it wasn't fair for them to _expect _him to choose!

Neirin broke first. "I'd _wondered _where he wandered off to," he said calmly, though he obviously hadn't. He gestured for Kuja to come to him, and Bellanna released him so he could do so. "I was just about to get ready for this evening's celebration," the prince continued. "I suppose I was so focused on _that_ that I completely forgot about the poor child."

"The celebration isn't until _tonight,_" the queen said incredulously. "You have the entire day to prepare!"

"And I'll need every moment of it!" Neirin patted Kuja's head. He was getting tired of being patted on the head. "I have to dress _two_, you know. As if I'd let Kuja go uncostumed!" The boy fought the urge to groan. He already didn't want to attend this costumed… _thing_, never mind getting in costume. He wasn't interested in standing around in a crowded room for hours; he didn't _like _being surrounded by people. "And you, Mother? What will _you _be going as, hm?"

Bellanna's face went still, and she turned her hands up. "Who knows? I haven't spoken to my dressmaker yet."

Neirin stared. "You intend to have a dress made in a _day_ for the celebration, Mother? You'll give the poor man a heart attack."

"We'll see," she laughed, turning around to leave. "I do hate to wear the same costume twice!"

xxx

In the end, it was even worse than he'd expected. Neirin had apparently decided to attend the celebration costumed as a silver dragon, and nothing would do but that Kuja must wear a much simpler version of the same costume. Neirin's outfit was almost elegant – it was white, of course, and flowed in much the same way as the dragon's wings had, and was accentuated with just the faintest hints of red here and there, including just above his eyes. And, naturally, there were feathers woven into his hair, collected from the balcony. It wasn't hard to admire his costume – it was just _slightly _over the top, while still remaining pleasing to the eye. _His_ costume, on the other hand… as far as he could tell, someone had simply sewn a lot of feathers onto a white robe and left it at that. Neirin had swept red face-paint over his own eyes and woven a few feathers into his hair, but where Neirin's costume was lovely, his own was preposterous.

Worse, the ballroom was stifling, and the prince had spoken truly – the entire city really _had_ turned out for the party, and while the room itself was beautiful, Kuja found he couldn't quite fully enjoy it. Once again, Neirin simply forgot about him, and chose instead to mingle with his subjects, all of whom clamored for the chance to talk to him. Even the guardians (who were, of course, dressed as their respective Beasts of Chaos) didn't seem to notice him, for of course they all had friends here in the city. Kuja tucked himself into a corner, wondering if he could simply slip away unnoticed. He looked around, but he didn't see the queen anywhere, and eventually, he picked up on the rumor that she wasn't feeling well.

Strange. She'd seemed fine earlier.

"Kuja!" Elisi, the servant's daughter he'd befriended at the manor, caught his attention. She wasn't costumed at all, but was dressed in the uniform all of the servants were wearing tonight, and she didn't seem particularly happy to be wearing it… nor did she seem to be hard at work. She skittered over to him, her central-region white hair coming undone from its painstakingly pinned bun. "How'd you draw the good straw, huh? You get to party with the nobles, and I get to hold a tray for their empty drinks." She wrinkled her nose, and he laughed. Elisi was fourteen or so, but she seemed content to entertain younger children, which suited Kuja just fine.

"And where's your tray?" he asked, gesturing to her empty hands.

"I passed it off to Trebeck about an hour ago," she replied. "Told him I'd come back for it. I expect he's still waiting for me, bless his misguided little heart." Everyone knew Trebeck was in love with Elisi, and Elisi used it to her own advantage on more than one occasion. "Well, and what are you doing over in the corner? Shouldn't you be out flaunting your costume? The prince must've worked so hard on it!"

Kuja looked down at his absurd getup, and frowned. "I think he's just as ashamed of it as I am." That made her laugh, which made him proud; perhaps Neirin was right, maybe he _was _clever.

Elisi stood, brushing off the knees of her uniform. "Well, since I'm not working and you have a costume on, let's dance, shall we? I doubt the prince will mind if his servants are keeping his little friend entertained." She offered her hand, and though he didn't know the first thing about dancing and Elisi was easily two and a half heads taller than he was, he accepted. Perhaps this celebration wouldn't be quite as horrible as he'd thought.

xxx

The night air was cool on her face, which served to clear her head. She wore simple clothing and a traveler's cloak, both to disguise her identity, though no one was likely to see her tonight. No, nearly everyone had gone to the celebration. After her work here was done, she supposed she'd go, too – perhaps she'd have a reason to celebrate, then. She hoped as much. The two guards behind her, also dressed plainly enough, were chatting about how they wished they'd have been able to go to the party, thinking she couldn't hear, and she allowed it. Neirin was at his best when he was surrounded by his admirers, after all, and she wished just as badly as the guards that she could be there to see it. Damn this Paragon for choosing tonight of all nights, but it was wisely done, at that. No one would see them tonight.

She knew the theatre well enough; Neirin adored drama, and so they went to see plenty of shows. Tonight, however, the building was deserted. That was strange – even on the night of the celebration, there ought to have been at least a few people at the theatre… ticketmasters, the house crew, a guard at the door. No one. Only a solitary man, one she didn't recognize, stood just inside the door. Bellanna hesitated a moment. Something was wrong… but no. No, she would not turn back now; she would not risk allowing a threat to her son's life and rule to continue.

"I… I seek the Paragon," she said, steeling her resolve.

The stranger looked at her, then to the men behind her. "Not with those two, you don't."

Bellanna wavered a moment, then looked to her guards. "Remain here," she ordered. "If there is any trouble, you will know." They could take a lone man, that much she knew; they were her own personal guardsmen. They nodded, and stood back. The stranger eyed them warily, then nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Follow me."

She followed him into the heart of the building, though strangely enough, he lit no torches. She thought about asking why, but something told her she might not like the answer – or that he might simply refuse to answer at all. Together they walked down a hallway Bellanna had never been down before, she was sure of it, and then, suddenly, he opened an unfamiliar door. It was dark inside.

"In there."

Bellanna took a step back. "Light a torch," she ordered, and he laughed. She had every intention of running, though in the dark she wasn't certain she could find her way, but before she could do any such thing, he grabbed her arm.

"You seek the Paragon, and the Paragon waits in darkness." With that, the man shoved her into the dark room.

Immediately she collided with a body. In the dark, she could smell the man's foul breath, and she tore away from him, only to run into a second body, and then a third, and a fourth, until she knew she was surrounded by people, all in the dark and all unfamiliar and all _laughing in the dark_. Bellanna screamed, despite herself, and she started clawing wildly around her, trying to call on the power she knew was somewhere within her, descended from the line of kings, but it was sealed off somehow and she couldn't touch it! And the laughter continued, and they were shoving her back and forth now, tossing them between her as she screamed and clawed and kicked and called for her guards, but of course they were too far away to hear her now, of course, of course, she'd been foolish to think otherwise. And then, all at once, it stopped, and she felt cold stone beneath her.

The lights flashed on, fires leaping to life all at once.

The cold stone was an altar, and the room was filled with strangely-dressed people, none of whom she recognized.

And standing behind the altar was Taharka.

"And so you find the Paragon," the cultist said, bowing. Bellanna looked wildly at the door, blocked by a mass of writhing bodies that would undoubtedly push her back to the altar. "I thank you for sparing my life," Taharka continued. "Though your mercy won't stop my plans. I am Terra's guardian, and I _will _give her a proper master, whether his vessel comes willingly or not." _His vessel. His vessel._ The words rattled uselessly in the queen's mind, and she stared at the cultist without comprehending any of them. And then, horribly, they clicked.

_Neirin_.

"Vessel? He's my _son,_ you _bastard!_" she screamed, decorum and etiquette gone in the face of a mother's wrath. "If you think you can keep me chained here while you murder my _son_ in cold blood, you-"

"Chained?" Taharka repeated, his black eyes glinting cruelly. "Your Majesty, I do not intend to keep you _chained_. I have been reading. I know of the power you hold, descended from the line of the First Kings. Did you not wonder why you couldn't _wield _that power here? It feels as if a wellspring has been choked off, doesn't it?" Bellanna froze. She'd believed her inability to summon up her birthright was due to her own panic, nothing more. What had he…? "My alchemists have crafted a very useful stone. You see, I know it would be all but impossible to approach _either _of you as long as that power remains available to you. I'm nothing if not resourceful. The stone serves to choke off magical energy, though it isn't quite at its full strength yet."

"Get to the point," Bellanna snapped.

Taharka smiled. "The point is that I intend to use _you_ to strengthen it. The stone is very weak at the moment, of course, for it draws its power from the blood of the First Kings. It was difficult to track down that blood in lesser veins, but with _you_… your blood remains as pure as is possible, doesn't it? The First Kings' families intermingled, time after time, breeding a pure strain, and so here you are. You see, I have no intention of chaining you here; that would be inhumane. No, Your Majesty, I intend to kill you, take your blood, and strengthen the stone. With your blood powering it, it will no longer allow even the strongest of spells to pass."

The queen's lips twitched. "I see. So it cannot currently… stop stronger spells?"

Perhaps at the last moment, Taharka realized his mistake, but that was enough time for Bellanna. She was torn for a moment between targets – Taharka or the crowd – but finally decided that above all else, she _had to reach Neirin_. She whirled quickly, and a blast of lightning lit up the room, ripping through the crowd. Before the spell had even finished, the queen was on her feet and running, one hand extended for the door. If she could reach her guards, she could reach Neirin, and if she could reach Neirin, he could be warned, and if he could be warned-!

The door opened before she could reach it, and the man who had greeted her at the door punched her. She was on the floor, sprawled dizzily over several blackened bodies, before she knew what was happening.

"A clever attempt," Taharka said, though his voice wavered; he hadn't expected her to kill an entire room of people. "But all for naught. When we've finished strengthening the stone, Bellanna, we will attack the castle and seize Garland's vessel. Tonight is Terra's grand resuscitation; you should be proud to be a part of it!" She tasted the coppery bitterness of her own blood, and spat out a tooth. She tried to call another spell, but she lacked the strength to stand.

They picked her up.

They carried her to the altar.

She felt cold steel split her throat, and she watched as her blood spilled out over the altar, settling on an odd round disk inscribed with Terra's seal.

Her final thought was of Neirin.

_I'm so sorry. My god, I'm so, so sorry._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes it's a cliffhanger, yes I'm a horrible person. See you next week!


	6. Escape

**Author's Note:** I really hope you're all still reading, and just choose not to review. 3: I'm concerned that the last chapter may have run a few of you off, and that would be terribly unfortunate. However, if you're still reading, thank you anyway; I definitely still appreciate it! And to Pip, who left a lovely review, thank you. I'm glad the twist actually managed to be a twist!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Six: Escape**

It was difficult to say which was worse, the screams or the silence.

The celebration carried on late into the night, and no one thought to send Kuja or the other children to bed – it was a night of joy, after all, and all were allowed to enjoy it for however long they chose. Some of the children – servants' children as well as those of the nobility – dozed along the walls, no longer sustained by the many sweets and treats the banquet table had to offer. Kuja, however, was still wide awake, laughing as Elisi spun him around the ballroom floor. Her hair had come completely undone by now, and it spilled over her shoulders in white waves, while the ridiculous feathers had nearly all fallen out of Kuja's own hair. They were a sight to see, though no one cared to look at them, dancing in their corner.

Elsewhere, Neirin was lounging on his throne, chatting drowsily with Maliris. They both appeared quite spectacularly drunk, and each had a full glass at hand. Tiamat was also obviously drunk, but he was occupied with playing a dangerous game with several guards – it involved tossing spinning knives from one person to the next, hoping not to catch the blade. Nearest anyone could tell, Tiamat was highly skilled at the game, though the guards bore several cuts on their hands. Lich was dancing with a pretty young noblewoman fully half his age, and there was some speculation that perhaps they'd be the next couple to mysteriously vanish into the castle's hallways, only to emerge a while later looking disheveled and quite pleased with themselves. Kraken, meanwhile, was chatting with several women along the wall, while keeping a careful eye on her fellow guardians. She was, it seemed, the only one among them not interested in losing herself in her cups – even Lich had admittedly had perhaps a drink too many.

The music and mood were merry, and Kuja had to confess he was glad he'd decided not to slip away. When they weren't doing what passed for dancing among children, he and Elisi laughed at the costumes of the nobility. There were several men who had obviously attempted to dress as the prince, and at least one or two women had aped the queen, and all were disappointed that Bellanna hadn't been well enough to attend. Kuja thought he might visit the queen in the morning, to tell her all about the celebration she had missed, for he doubted Neirin would. And hopefully she might feel just a bit better by the morning, as well.

"You look tired," Elisi observed, looking down at him. He yawned. He wasn't tired, not really, just exhausted – he'd never been up this late in his life. Orphan or no, Kuja was accustomed to going to bed at a certain time, and that after a _normal_ day. He'd been awake since dawn today, and it was a wonder he hadn't simply collapsed – it was nearly midnight. Or perhaps it was past midnight. It was difficult to say. All the same, the older girl escorted him back to his corner, and there they sat, while she attempted to fix her hair and Kuja struggled to keep his eyes open.

The doors opened. No one thought anything of it; the doors had been opening and closing nearly all the evening, with guests coming and going. The warm night air swept in, and the music never faltered.

And then someone screamed – a high, terrifying sound that was suddenly, horribly, cut short.

Kuja and Elisi were on their feet before the scream ended, and all four of the guardians went immediately on alert, scrambling toward the throne. Maliris, who was already there, stood before Neirin, swords drawn. The room itself had erupted into utter chaos, and Kuja had no idea what was going on, only that there was screaming – suddenly, screaming _everywhere_. Elisi swept him up into her arms and started running (with some difficulty – he wasn't that much smaller than she was), and from her much higher vantage point, he was able to see black-cloaked men surging through the doors. Beneath the cloaks, he saw, they were armed – with swords, with crossbows, with daggers, with clubs.

And they were killing everyone.

The blood wasn't the worst of it, though it was everywhere: the walls, the floors, the statues, everything became a gory canvas splattered in red. No, the worst of it was the lack of discrimination. They spared no one. Servants, nobility, adults, children, it made no difference – and the dazed, half-asleep children along the walls were among the first to fall. It made no sense, and Kuja's mind struggled to convince him it was all a nightmare; it _had_ to be a nightmare. Nothing else made _sense_. And everyone was screaming, as if that would make a difference. Everyone had gone mad. The intruders kicked over the banquet table, revealing several terrified servants who pled for their lives as they were cut down. Everyone had gone _mad_. Even Elisi ran like a crazed animal, her eyes wide and unseeing, and Kuja clung to her, surprisingly calm despite the insanity blazing around him.

At the center of it all, at the throne, Neirin and his guardians remained calm, trying to determine the source of the chaos while fending off attacks – celebration or no, the crown prince's guardians had not come to the party unprepared to perform their duties. Tiamat crushed the skull of one approaching attacker with his gauntlet-clad fist, and skewered another on a triple-bladed sword crafted to look like a dragon's claws. Kraken was wounded, a crossbow bolt protruding from one side, yet she fought on, defended behind Tiamat's armor as she struck again and again with a bladed whip. Lich was standing beside the throne, chanting quietly under his breath, summoning up a barrier of magic to protect Neirin (who had been instructed to remain still, much to his disgust), and nearby, Maliris fought with all the madness around her, channeled into pure adrenaline. She flew into the crowd like a whirlwind, cutting down the intruders before they could come close to the throne. She moved through the entire room rapidly, never hesitating, never pausing…

Until she reached the door.

Maliris's enraged shriek ripped through the room, high above the screams of terror, and she threw her blades to the ground and sank to her knees, defeated. Kuja heard and saw, and he clung tightly to Elisi, who had begun to slow, his weight too much to bear… yet she would not put him down. He asked. He asked several times, and never once did she answer. She was carrying him to the throne, to Neirin and his guardians, where he might be safe – safe, if Neirin would guard him. It was the only hope. Nowhere else was safe.

"Maliris!" Tiamat's voice carried across the room. "Maliris, to your feet! Have you given up so easily?" He sounded confident, but there was a note of fear in his voice that only the skilled could have heard – he was losing ground, and he was wearing down. Behind him, Lich's paling held, assisted in part by the prince's own power, but if the other guardians were to fall, the barrier would not be enough. To the guardian's relief, Maliris rose shakily to her feet, apparently unharmed, and fought her way through the crowd to the throne. The intruders' numbers were dwindling, and no new black cloaks emerged through the doors. The bodies were stacking up, though, and only in a matter of minutes – the intruders had caught them unaware, and drunk and content besides. This much carnage should not have been allowed to happen. Even the guards had been slain, caught early, before anyone could determine what was happening.

At last Maliris arrived at the throne, tears streaking her blue-painted face. "We must leave," she said, her voice hoarse. "We have to get Neirin out of here. _Now_."

Before Tiamat could ask why, a servant girl appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, wild-eyed and carrying… carrying…

"Kuja," Kraken said, reaching for the boy as the girl collapsed, retrieving him only a breath before the girl's legs gave out. There was a crossbow bolt in the girl's back – not a bad enough wound to kill her, likely, but she was bleeding heavily. Kraken set Kuja onto his feet and went to see to the other child. The boy swayed uncertainly on his feet for a moment, staring at the servant girl in growing horror. They were friends, Tiamat knew; he'd seen the boy trailing after the girl at the manor – in fact, it was for that reason logic-minded Lich had suggested bringing the girl and her mother to the castle. He hoped Kuja wasn't going to cry. The girl wasn't likely to die, if she could be tended quickly enough, but sometimes logic could be lost on the stupidity of children.

Kuja did not cry. He watched as Kraken withdrew the bolt, disregarding the one digging into her own flesh, and quickly tore a makeshift bandage from her own costume. "Neirin," she said flatly, "If you can trouble yourself, I could use some help here."

"We don't have _time_ for this," Maliris exploded, shoving Kuja aside. "Didn't you hear me? We have to get out of here _now_; do you know what those… those bastards _brought with them_? The queen is–"

"I hope I'm not intruding."

The voice came from across the ballroom, where the doors stood open. Standing there, alone in the immense doorway, was Taharka, wearing a plain black robe that in no way professed that he was _humble_. A large disk bearing the emblem of Terra hung on a thick cord around his neck, and at the center of the emblem, a clear, dark blue stone was set. Taharka stood among the innumerable bodies, amidst all of the blood, unflinching, staring across the massacre at the throne. At Neirin. The cultist looked around; seemingly admiring what could have only been his work. Kuja's blood ran cold, and he scrambled backwards, pressing himself against the dais. He alone among the guests had survived unscathed, and he hoped to remain that way, but that seemed impossible now. _Harmless_, the guardians had called Taharka. In only a matter of minutes, the man had done more harm than Kuja had ever seen in his short lifetime. _Elisi,_ he thought, despairing; her eyes were closed, and he couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. Kraken had frozen, eyeing Taharka rather than tending to the girl's wounds.

"The paling," Lich said, dismayed. The barrier protecting Neirin had failed when Taharka had arrived, though he couldn't say why. He tried again to call it, only to find his words were ineffectual.

Neirin was pale. His lips moved, but he couldn't seem to form the words, and though his face remained carefully expressionless, there was raw terror in his eyes. "Taharka," he finally managed, sounding calmer than he likely felt. Kuja moved closer to the prince, though he couldn't say why – perhaps because Neirin seemed to be the least-likely to completely lose his head. Each of the guardians appeared to be on the verge of lunging for the cultist's throat, Maliris in particular. She looked nearly rabid, covered head to foot in blood.

"I hope you enjoyed my gift… though it looks as if you're less thrilled about _this_ one," Taharka said, laying a hand over the emblem around his neck. "I've crafted a special stone for you, Neirin. I hope it serves to discourage any thoughts you may have had about refusing to become Garland's vessel. I want this to be as bloodless as possible."

"Bloodless?" Kraken said, incredulously. She stood, gesturing to the carnage strewn throughout the room. "You consider this _bloodless_, Taharka?" At her feet, Elisi had gone still. Kuja forced himself to look away. _He_ had survived. _He_ would continue to survive. She had wanted that, after all.

Taharka looked around again, the smallest of smiles playing over his lips. "All meaningless. Every one of them would have died soon enough. Terra is dying, and every one of us will die with it… unless Garland's mission is successful. You call yourselves guardians; you know what it is to protect something important. Nothing is more important than Terra." He took a step closer, and the guardians moved closer to Neirin, who remained perfectly still. Kuja sat trembling at his feet, trying his hardest not to show any of the terror he felt. "You're going to be difficult, I see." Taharka turned his hands up, shrugging. "Stand against me if you wish. This is the eve of Terra's grand resuscitation, and it will not be halted, bloodshed or no."

At his words, more black-cloaked murderers streamed in through the doors, tearing toward the throne, weapons in hand.

"Maliris, Lich," Tiamat said, jerking his head toward the hallway. Without waiting for any sort of explanation, Maliris grabbed Neirin's arm and ran for the hallway, Lich close behind. Though he was unsure of where they were going, Kuja jumped to his feet and followed them. Wherever they were going, it had to be better than the ballroom, and a child would be of no use in the fighting that was surely about to break out. Behind them, Kraken and Tiamat stood ready at the hallway entrance, prepared to fight off anyone who tried to follow the fleeing companions. Kuja looked back at them helplessly, wondering if he would ever see them again.

It was difficult to keep up with the other three through the winding castle hallways, and more than once, the boy was sure he'd lost them completely. Powered by fear, however, he forced himself to continue running, for if he stopped, he was lost. He listened for the sound of footsteps when he lost sight of the others, and in this way, he finally managed to find them again, at a dead end.

Lich felt along the walls, swearing under his breath. "I can't _find_ it," he muttered. "All these years, all the practice, and I can't find – ah!" He touched one of the stones, and the far wall glowed briefly… and then _vanished, _revealing another long hall on the other side. Kuja let out a yelp of surprise, and the guardians whirled, weapons drawn. He flinched back. Lich stared at him in disbelief. "To think, men trained in battle could die this night, and an unremarkable child should survive," he said, lowering the thin, wickedly-curved blade he carried. "You're god-touched, boy."

"God-touched and distracting," Neirin said, his voice unsteady. He looked anxiously down the passage that had been revealed, then back at his guardians. "As I was saying, one of you should go and find my mother. She'll need to be –"

Maliris whirled. "The queen is _dead_," she snapped. "I don't know how they got to her, but they slit her throat and brought the body with them. They dumped it right in front of the doors, didn't you see her?" Maliris was pale and furious, and something else. Kuja had the uncomfortable feeling she was terrified.

Neirin stared at her, obviously confused. "Dead. No, she's _sick_," he said shakily. "She said she was sick…"

"She lied." Maliris jerked her head toward the passageway. "Long live the king, unless he's stupid enough to die here tonight. Get _moving_, Neirin."

"You're coming, aren't you?" Neirin asked, not moving. "You're going to get my mother, and then you're coming with me."

Lich stepped in, before Maliris could snap at him again. "Wait for us in the tunnel, Neirin. We'll be needed here, but when our tasks here are complete, the four of us will join you and escape."

It seemed like a horrible nightmare, and Kuja felt as if he were watching the scene from somewhere far outside of his own body. His emotions were hazy and vague, yet disturbingly real, as if they were something he could touch. He heard the words _queen_ and _dead_; he heard the fear in Neirin's voice; he heard the masked terror in Lich's calm tone; he saw the muscles tensing in Maliris's body. None of it made any sense. His own fear was somehow unattached to him, like a separate entity with a life all its own. His mind sorted out the important details: there had been an attack, they were escaping, and that was that. The rest could be dealt with later.

Slowly, hesitantly, Neirin turned and began to walk down the long passageway. Kuja rushed to follow, but Maliris stopped him. "And where do you think _you're _going?" she asked sharply, the snake tattoo on her face opening its jaw wide as she snarled.

"Maliris." Lich's voice was still calm, and the woman looked up, scowling. "Maliris, let him go. If we can save two here tonight, why settle for only one? Besides, the boy is god-touched. Neirin may have need of his luck."

Maliris looked down at the boy, and he could only look back. _Please let me go,_ he wanted to beg, but found he had no words. Her grip on his arm loosened, and she sighed. "Go."

It was all the encouragement he needed. Kuja ran after Neirin, and the wall reappeared behind him. He had no time to revel in the wonder of it, as he was left in darkness. He might have run past Neirin completely had he not stumbled over the prince's legs – Neirin was sitting down, against the wall. Kuja sat down a few steps away, listening to Neirin breathe in the dark silence. His breathing was unsteady. It took the boy a while to realize the prince was crying. And that's when it all hit him, all at once. The queen was dead. He wasn't sure why the loss didn't hurt him more than it did; it left him painfully numb. And Elisi was likely also dead – and she had saved his life. The numbness spread further, until it became a hole at his core, and he curled in, resting his forehead on his knees. So many people had died. He'd known some of them – the servants and their children, mostly. And they were all gone, so suddenly. He wanted to cry for them.

He had no tears.

He sat in silence, wishing Neirin would say something, anything. Lich had said he and the other guardians would come to find them, but no one came, and it seemed as if time stretched on and on. Beyond the wall, there was only silence – no sounds of fighting, nothing. Kuja thought he might have fallen asleep once or twice, but it was difficult to tell when his eyes were open as opposed to when they were closed. The air was stale and stagnant, and Kuja found it hard to breathe when he thought about it. Neirin's quiet sobs had stopped, but the boy couldn't say _when_ they had stopped, only that they had. His own cheeks remained painfully dry, despite the gnawing numbness he still felt. He'd never lost anyone before. He was sure he was supposed to cry.

The far wall vanished again, and Maliris emerged, covered in fresh blood. "You'll have to go on without us," she said hastily, pulling Neirin to his feet. "The bastard brought more allies with him than we thought. The entire damn cult must be here."

"My mother," Neirin said flatly, and Maliris ignored him.

"If we can survive this, we'll meet you sometime down the road. Don't wait for us. Do you hear me, Neirin? _Don't wait for us, _dammit; it's only a matter of time before they reach your destination."

Neirin stared at her. "But… where will I go?" he asked, at a loss. Kuja wished he could have felt just a bit of the prince's confusion, or _something_.

"I don't know," Maliris replied quietly. "Just keep moving. Don't stop until we find you and tell you to do so."

There was another long silence, and Neirin's face slid from confusion to determination. Without another word to Maliris, he turned and began running down the passageway. Kuja stared after him for a moment before following at a sprint. He didn't know where they were going, but he knew he didn't want to be left behind.

Maliris watched them go, and when she could no longer see them vanishing into the shadows, she walked out of the passageway and sealed the door behind her.

"God-touched," she murmured. "We can only hope."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Amen, the actual plot has officially gotten off the ground, _yay_. See you next week for chapter seven!

Additionally, I just started a summer class, so if my updates are slightly late (they will still be on Tuesdays, god and my professor willing, just possibly not at or around midnight), that's why.


	7. Unknown Roads

**Author's Note:** I have a new story-stalker! Hi, JessRangel! As for my lone reviewer, Pip… stick with me, kid. ;3 I'll take you places. Crazy places all over Terra, naturally, and right down to the This Can't Possibly End Well ending. Awesome!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Seven: Unknown Roads**

They walked in the dark for what seemed like an eternity. Kuja found himself wondering if Neirin knew where they were going, but couldn't seem to find the courage to ask – all he had now was the prince's apparent confidence in the direction they were headed, and if he lost that, he wasn't certain how well his nerves could handle the loss. Worse, as the hours ticked by in silence, the boy began to suspect Neirin wasn't even aware he was _there_, and Kuja couldn't bring himself to break the silence. The prince's nerves were likely as frayed as his own, and the boy could only imagine how _he _would have responded to a voice emerging from the darkness, never mind how a prince on the run for his very life might react.

And so the terrible silence continued, broken only by the sound of their feet echoing up and down the increasingly narrow hallway. The carved stone walls gradually gave way to rough-carved cavern walls, harsh and cold beneath Kuja's groping hands. He was surprised by how sharp his senses became in the dark – after the first hour or so, he'd stopped moving along hesitantly and fearfully, and began moving along with confidence. He listened to Neirin's footsteps. If the prince stumbled over a rock in the path, Kuja moved to avoid it, finding his way along the opposite wall. He learned to pause and feel around when the echo of their footsteps changed, suggesting there might be some obstacle or turn in the path ahead. Neirin seemed to do the same. Eventually, it became second nature. It was easier, Kuja thought, than navigating through the forest – the tunnel had no branches, and after a while, the twists and turns in the path ceased to come as a surprise. As long as he didn't think about what they were fleeing from, he could pretend they were on an adventure, just as he'd always pretended back in Bran Bal.

At one point, though, it became difficult to continue pretending. Even as an orphan in Bran Bal, he'd never gone hungry.

He'd done well keeping his mind off of the horror they were leaving behind, pretending it was all an adventure – they were walking down a tunnel into the center of Terra itself, that was his game. The game persisted for a long while, as he composed dialogue in his head to replace the lack of it in real life, and indeed, it might have gone on for quite a while longer had he not stopped to think about what he was _really _doing. He was walking through a very long, very dark tunnel, with no supplies to speak of. While he knew the destination of his game, he didn't have any clue as to where they were _really_ going. Or how long it would take to get there. The numbness at his core was replaced by painful hunger, though he'd eaten his fill during the celebration. How long had they been walking? Hours? _Days_? Kuja tried to think on it – had they stopped to rest? No. Never. Neirin moved like a feral beast, seemingly unhindered by hunger or weariness, but Kuja was beginning to slow. The more he thought about it, the worse it became. He wished Neirin would stop.

But what if he stopped, and they slept… and then Neirin woke before him, and went on without him? The thought terrified him, and gave him a burst of renewed energy. If the prince could continue walking, so too could he, hunger and weariness be damned. His legs ached, but as before, his terror outweighed the pain. He couldn't quite keep up with Neirin, but he knew he wasn't far behind.

Eventually, his stomach betrayed him. It let out a low growl, and from somewhere further up the tunnel, Neirin froze. "Who's there?" he called, the words echoing in the darkness. Kuja flinched.

"It's… it's me," he called back, surprised by how rough his voice sounded – likely from lack of use, or lack of water. "It's Kuja."

"Kuja?" Neirin repeated, clearly mystified. "How in the _world_…" Kuja moved ahead cautiously, feeling around in the blackness for the prince. When at last his fingers grazed the feathery fabric of Neirin's celebratory costume, he thought he might cry. After an eternity of walking in solitary silence, at _last_, he'd finally come into contact with another living, breathing being. It was one thing to wander in darkness knowing only that somewhere up ahead was someone else. It was another wonderful thing entirely to finally talk to and touch that person. Neirin's hands groped at him in the dark, grazing over his hair and face, until he was apparently satisfied that yes, Kuja was who he said he was. "Have you been here the entire time?" he whispered hoarsely, and though he knew the prince couldn't see it, Kuja could only manage a helpless nod. "I _thought_ I heard footsteps, but I thought it was just my imagination." The prince laughed weakly.

After that they pressed on together, once again in silence, though this silence seemed somehow less awful. Neirin moved at a slower pace, too, seemingly unwilling to leave Kuja too far behind, for which the boy was inexpressibly grateful. Once, they rested, though not for long – Kuja managed to nod off only for a moment before Neirin roused him. His hunger persisted, and his stomach growled occasionally, but Neirin said nothing. It occurred to him that the prince was likely just as hungry as he was, if not worse – he didn't remember seeing Neirin eat anything during the celebration, only that he'd had quite a bit to drink.

"Three days," Neirin said suddenly, and the boy blinked up at him in the darkness. "Three days. That's how long we've been walking. Or close enough to it, anyway. This is a three-day journey, and I think it's almost over." Kuja didn't have the strength to ask how the prince knew this; he only nodded. _Three days_. No wonder he was so tired. His hunger had faded to a gnawing pain in his stomach, easier to ignore, but his body protested this nonstop walking – it was all he could do to stay on his feet. _Keep going,_ Maliris had said. The thought terrified him. He didn't doubt for a moment that Neirin would leave him behind if he became a burden; Neirin was infinitely more concerned for his own life, and with good reason. The thought strengthened Kuja's flagging resolve, and he forced himself to take another step, and another, and another on his shaking legs. He was dizzy and his head pounded, but he ignored it. Neirin said the journey was almost over. If that was what Neirin claimed, then Kuja was willing to believe it.

He couldn't say when it started, but after a while, he began to hear voices. At first, Kuja thought he was going mad; it wouldn't have surprised him in the least. Were it not for Neirin's increased caution, he might have gone on believing it. But as the voices became louder, Neirin moved much more slowly, inching along like a predator stalking its prey. This stalking approach struck Kuja as bizarre – _they_ were the ones being hunted, weren't they?

"Stay back," the prince warned quietly, and Kuja stayed where he was. The odd echoes suggested that they had reached a dead end – likely the exit, concealed in much the same way as the entrance had been. And the voices… _It's only a matter of time before they reach your destination_, Maliris had said. She'd been right. They were already _there_. Had they known about this tunnel? Kuja looked over his shoulder, suddenly terrified. What if they'd followed Neirin into the tunnel; what if they were only a short distance behind? He squinted into the darkness, ears straining for any sound of footsteps. He was so focused on the dark that he nearly screamed when, sudden as a lightning flash, there was a burst of light. It was only there for a moment, but after days of darkness, the sudden light burned his eyes. He covered them quickly, though the light was gone, then blinked towards Neirin. The light had come from _him_.

"Sorry," Neirin whispered. "I had to be sure it still worked; Taharka did _something_ to choke off my power."

"Power?" Kuja repeated, still uncertain of what everyone meant when they used the word _power_. And this explanation still did little to explain the sudden flash of light from nowhere.

Rather than answering, Neirin simply repeated, "Stay back." Kuja sat down and scooted a fair distance back, uncertain and just the slightest bit fascinated. He heard Neirin feeling around the walls in the dark: just the slightest sound of skin and nails brushing over stone. It occurred to the boy that perhaps if the prince used that light again, he might be able to _see_ what he was looking for, but he suspected there was likely some reason for it. After a moment, light flooded in as the far wall vanished, and Kuja sat blinking in the sudden rush of light.

It was then that he discovered what Taharka had meant by _power_.

There was a burst of heat, and though Kuja's eyes were still straining against the light, he recognized the smell and color of fire. As his eyes adjusted, he watched a wall of flame erupt from the palm of Neirin's hand, greeted by the screams of armed men as they struggled to escape. They'd been expecting Neirin's arrival, but they obviously hadn't known when or how to expect it – they likely knew nothing of this passageway. The smell of burned meat filled the air, and to his revulsion and horror, Kuja felt his mouth begin to water even as his stomach churned. The men in the room – it seemed to be some sort of conference room, or perhaps a parlor of some kind – scurried toward the exit; many seemed uncertain of exactly what was happening. They wore the same unornamented black cloaks as the men who had attacked the castle and, for that reason alone, Kuja found nothing within him that resembled pity or sympathy.

When at last all of the men within the room were either dead or dying, Neirin gestured for him to come out of the tunnel. "There will be others," the prince said. "It's hard to guess how many. Most of them were probably sent to the castle; Taharka thought to catch me there." Despite this warning, it seemed as if the building was deserted. The hallways were empty, though there was a disturbing amount of blood smeared along the walls. "They must have killed the servants," Neirin said, looking around. "And probably everyone else who happened to wander nearby."

"Where are we?" Kuja asked. It wasn't a terribly important question, he knew, but he wanted to know – he wanted to focus on the unnecessary details in order to distract himself from the larger situation.

Neirin looked around. "Another retreat, like the manor. We're near Belapest." Belapest, the City of Travelers. It was near enough to Bran Bal that Kuja had heard of it, but of course he'd never _seen_ it, and all things considered, he'd never wanted to. Belapest had a poor reputation. It attracted vagrants and vagabonds, thieves and mendicants, and though it served as the crossroads of the mother continent, few travelers dared to visit in this age, preferring to go around. It had once been a thriving trade center – it wasn't a port city, no, but its location made it a convenient location to pass through: from each of Belapest's four gates, one could easily travel to any of the largest cities on the continent, Traje included. More importantly, once upon a time at least, Belapest offered travelers and pilgrims the chance to restock their supplies and rest before setting out again. Now, travelers ventured through at their own risk. Kuja found himself dreading that Neirin might suggest they needed to buy supplies in Belapest.

Instead, it seemed as if all they needed could be found within the walls of this very building. Kuja followed the prince through the empty manor, trying not to hear the eerie silence around them. Neirin ducked into one room and fished through a standing wardrobe, eventually settling on what appeared to be traveling clothes. "We always kept this manor well-supplied, in case an escape such as this ever became necessary," he explained, smiling wryly. "I always thought it was foolish." Kuja suspected _he_ would have thought it was foolish, as well, had it not become so achingly necessary after all, but he didn't say as much. Neirin eyed him warily. "You've gotten quieter." Kuja didn't know what to say to that, so he stayed silent. "I've been thinking. Maybe it would be for the best if I returned you to Bran Bal."

"Please don't." He didn't know where the words came from, but they came spilling out of him in a rush. "I won't hold you back, I won't slow you down, I can _help,_ I _know_ I can, just please don't leave me behind, please!" To his surprise, he found that his cheeks were wet. His mind was filled with thoughts of the poor dead queen who had looked so sad, of Elisi who had died trying to save his life, of the guardians who had allowed him to escape. If he just went back to the way things had been, then… then what was it all _for_? He couldn't go back to being an idiotic, carefree orphan in the tiny pastoral village of Bran Bal while Neirin fled for his life from a man who wanted to kill him and craft an immortal golem; he couldn't go back to being a _child_.

Once started, the tears wouldn't stop. Kuja found himself at last shedding the tears he'd been holding back since the moment Taharka's men had interrupted the celebration at the castle. They burned, but it came as a crushing relief to shed them at last. And Neirin stared at him in horror, unsure of how to respond, having never dealt with a weeping child in his entire short life.

"Stop crying," the prince said, kneeling to wipe away the worst of the tears. "I won't leave you behind, just… _stop crying_." He sounded frantic, and for his sake, Kuja swallowed hard, struggling to blink back the tears. "I… I don't know _how_ to take care of a child," Neirin continued, placing his hands on Kuja's trembling shoulders. "I've trained… I've been training all my life to survive on my own if the worst should happen; if I should be separated from my guardians. That's what I was doing when you saved me… from my guardians." He managed a small smile, and Kuja struggled to smile back, for his sake. "So I know how to take care of _myself_, but _you... _I don't know how to take care of you. Do you know what you're getting into? We'll probably starve. When we get sick, we can't take the time to visit healers. We'll be hunted. _I don't know where we're going_. We might wander around forever, until we both die. And… and I can't let you slow me down."

Kuja listened to it, all of it, and felt strangely calm.

"I can take care of myself," he lied. "Just don't leave me."

Neirin sighed. "You're the strangest child I've ever met," he said flatly, then rose. "Well, we'd best find you something you can wear on the road, then. You certainly can't wear _that_." Kuja looked down, strangely surprised to see that he was still wearing his costume. Most of the feathers were gone, and here and there were flecks of blood. Elisi's blood, most likely. He felt too lethargic to cry again. Neirin searched through the wardrobe again, and shook his head. "We'll have to check the servants' quarters. These are all my size."

Just as Neirin had expected, the servants were all dead. Their bodies had been tossed into the servants' quarters, and Kuja gagged as he stepped over the days-old corpses. Their milky, glassy eyes gazed at him, and he choked on the smell of old blood. Neirin seemed unfazed, and before long, he brought forth a set of clothes that were more or less Kuja's size. They both dressed quickly, and Kuja was dismayed to find that his borrowed clothes were several sizes too large. "You'll grow into them," Neirin said simply. "You're at a growing age." Afterwards, they visited the kitchens. There was more blood scattered throughout, as of course the cultists had murdered the cooks, as well. It all seemed so senseless. Again, Neirin seemed unconcerned. "The bastards ate nearly all the food," he muttered, searching in the pantry. "Fortunately, they left most of the traveling rations. The All-Seeing God grants us small favors." In this case, Kuja knew, the "favor" came in the form of the dry, tasteless nature of traveling rations.

Here, surrounded by food, his hunger renewed itself, and he struggled to decide whether or not it would be appropriate to ask if they could eat something before setting out. Having declared that he wouldn't do anything to slow Neirin down, it seemed as if it might be somehow _wrong_ to ask, so he kept his mouth shut, and tried not to look around at the food that was surely going to go to waste. Fortunately, though, Neirin was just as hungry as he was, and suggested they eat a quick meal. It wasn't much, because of course neither of them knew the slightest bit about cooking, but it was enough. Kuja felt somewhat normal again after eating; as if perhaps everything _would_ be alright in the end. It was an illusion, he knew, but for the time being, he was prepared to accept illusions.

And then, they set out.

Outside it was growing dark, and Neirin hesitated on the doorstep. "You're certain you don't want to go back to Bran Bal?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "It would be nice to have some idea of where to go next, that's all. All the preparation and training in the world doesn't prepare you for the real thing. I never expected to be caught without my guardians." All the same, he stepped down from the doorstep, and Kuja followed. With that finished, Neirin took a deep breath, and began walking toward the night lights of Belapest. Somewhat hesitantly, Kuja trailed after him. He had no desire to go to Belapest, but this was the path he'd chosen, and so he'd stay on it. "Wherever we're going," Neirin continued. "We're likely to find the best start to our journey in the City of Travelers. Besides, it's the last place Taharka will expect to find me."

Kuja wasn't certain this was a _good_ thing.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the short chapter, but the boys will have lots of fun in Belapest next week, I promise.


	8. The City of Travelers

**Author's Note:** So bleh. I had some technical difficulties involving an entire page of this chapter going straight down the digital drain at the last possible minute, and I had to rewrite it. :c Oh well. New chapter is new! And yes, JessRangel, there is a _lot_ more of Terra to see, and yes, Pip, Neirin is secretly happy to have Kuja along for the ride. And in this chapter, we find out it was a _damn good idea_ to bring him along. Cheers!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Eight: The City of Travelers**

They passed through a small village surrounding the prince's erstwhile home. The village was strangely quiet, and Kuja tried to convince himself the silence was due to the late hour… but Neirin's expression said otherwise. Taharka's men had likely massacred the entire town, cutting down a populace that might have stood in the prince's defense. How many people was Taharka willing to murder in order to capture one person? Kuja shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, willing himself not to look at the dark houses lining the streets. The sun was sinking on the horizon, and it was doubtful they'd reach Belapest before it got dark… but Neirin was unwilling to wait. This was likely a wise decision, but the boy still didn't want to walk near Belapest in the dark.

He didn't want to walk near Belapest during the _day_.

In the dark-violet haze of the last moments of sunset, they began to hear music… or what passed for music, anyway. It was a cacophony of various sounds, mingled with multiple strains of bizarre melodies. "We're here," Neirin said simply, as they reached the top of a hill. At the bottom of the hill – a gentle slope, Kuja and his weary feet were glad to see – stood a massive wall that would serve ill should anyone ever hope to attack the city: there were enormous holes, gaping hideously among the stones. The gates had gone to rust and stood open, likely never to close again; the metal was twisted and corroded. Beyond the ruined walls and gates stood an enormous city, rotted and dark. Even under the merciful shield of nightfall, the city's flaws were obvious. The buildings were half-collapsed in some areas, thrown-together shacks in others. Even from this distance, the general stench of people and animals rose, souring the air. Torchlight and magefire lit the city, but even so the shadows gathered, and Kuja found himself wanting to find an alternate route.

"A pleasant little hellhole, isn't it?" Neirin said lightly, beginning to walk down the hill. Kuja stared after him for a moment, regretting his insistence on following the prince… then groaned petulantly before sulking his way down the hill. "I've never actually visited," Neirin was saying. "My guardians always refused to allow it. I tried to sneak out once or twice, but Maliris always caught me. She spent a great deal of time in Belapest, of course," he added. "She and Tiamat. He liked to pick fights; she liked to drink and dice. The other two frowned on it, naturally. Have you ever been?" He looked down at Kuja, curiously. The boy shook his head, eyeing the ominous broken gates ahead. Undaunted, Neirin pressed on. "Well, you're so young, I'm not surprised. Maybe you'll see someone you know here, hm? Isn't Bran Bal fairly close?" That was something Kuja hadn't even considered; this _was_ a popular place for those fleeing the quiet boredom of Bran Bal. Perhaps he _would_ meet someone he knew here. The thought both excited and terrified him.

Entirely too soon, they reached the ruined gates. A lone guard glanced lazily up at them as they passed through, not even troubling to ask what business they had in the city. Kuja didn't even think the guard was armed. If the man recognized Neirin, he gave no indication of it. Travelers from the central region were likely common enough, and at a glance, Kuja supposed Neirin looked like just another white-haired, pale-skinned vagrant from that area. And they _were_ coming from the right direction. "We won't be here long," Neirin murmured, glancing down at him, finally picking up on his anxiety. "Just long enough to get a map and pick a route. We won't stay the night." As terrified as Kuja was of traveling in the dark, he was even _more _afraid of spending the night in Belapest.

The City of Travelers was filled with a medley of people from all parts of Terra – they weren't the only silvery-haired wanderers in the city, though the blond or brunette hair and tan skin common to this particular region was much more plentiful. Too, there was a fair share of people who looked a great deal like Maliris, with dark skin and red or orange hair. And then there were people whose origins Kuja couldn't guess, speaking with accents and languages he didn't recognize. And there were so _many_ people. Kuja found himself gripping Neirin's hand, for fear that he'd get lost in the press of people. Neirin kept his other hand firmly over the pocket he'd tucked his money into; where there were crowds, there would be thieves. In this way they moved through the crowded streets, with Neirin glancing here and there, presumably seeking out a place to get a map. Kuja was too short to see above the crowd, so he kept his eyes lowered.

He didn't like the way everyone stared at them.

At first, he wondered if some of them recognized Neirin, and perhaps that was why they stared, wondering what business the prince had in this city. Eventually, though, some of the cursory glances turned into leers, and there was a quiet, speculating murmur that seemed to follow the two of them as they moved through the city. Kuja felt ill. He didn't know what it was the people _wanted,_ but he knew enough to know it wasn't anything good. Some of the people called out to Neirin, but Kuja couldn't quite make out the words, and he didn't want to. Whatever was said, Neirin ignored it with surprising grace, pressing forward as if he hadn't heard a word.

The further they moved into the city, the thinner the crowds became, as the people in the crowd dispersed to their destinations. Neirin let out a shaky breath. "I was so sure someone would recognize me," he whispered conspiratorially, and Kuja, pale, nodded. He'd been afraid of the same thing, and much more. "Maybe it was a mistake to come here." Neirin looked around. "I don't see anywhere to buy a map, and now I don't even know which way to go to get _out_ of this place…"

"Lost, are you?" The voice made them both jump. A man dressed like a beggar stepped toward them, and Neirin took a step back before he could catch himself. The beggar laughed. "A pair of young noblemen stepping out to explore the exciting streets of the City of Travelers. I see your like all of the time, young sirs, and I've seen them all spend every last coin gambling away their fortunes and buying up the best whores Belapest has to offer and the diseases that come along with 'em. If you're of a mind to spend your money, why not spend some of it on me, eh? I'm a sight poorer than you'll ever be, and I'm likely to put it to better use." It wasn't the best way to coax money out of visitors, but then again, it was rather more eye-catching than a cup alongside the street. Kuja stared at the man, at once fascinated and terrified.

Neirin recovered first, of course. "We aren't here for entertainment," he said calmly. "We're travelers, just seeking to pass through… so we're not of a mind to spend our money, no, but if you happen to know where we can find a map of the continent, the information _might_ be worth something to me." Kuja thought that was clever. He wouldn't have thought of that.

"A pair of travelers with no map, eh? And wealthy, by the looks of you. Is there more to you than first meets the eye, perhaps?" The beggar cocked his head to once side, squinting at Neirin's face. Kuja's heart pounded. _Please don't let him recognize the prince,_ he thought desperately. _Please, please, please._ "Well. I might know where you might find a map. You _might_ find a map at the old auction house; they housed a cartographer in the basement, and they sold the maps out in the auction. Don't look at me like that," he added, when Neirin arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Belapest knew how to wrestle money out of travelers in her day. Anyway, there's your information, as much as I can remember of it. Were you to pay me just a bit more, I might _remember _just a bit more – say, how to get there, perhaps?" Neirin grumbled as he handed over the money. The beggar grinned. "Well, what do you know; my rusty old memory's sparked. You take this street-" He pointed down a well-lit street nearby. "Until you reach the carnival grounds. From there, head to the left. The auction house will jump out and bite you in the eye before long; you can't miss it."

They thanked him and headed off in the direction he'd indicated. "Like as not he's lying or wrong," Neirin sighed. "But it gives us a place to go."

"And if he's wrong, we can always ask around on our way back," Kuja said, trying to raise his own spirits as well as Neirin's. The prince smiled and nodded, but said nothing.

This street was filled with oddly-dressed women, most of whom voiced their opinion that Neirin should leave him behind and pay them a visit. "Whores," Neirin said, by way of explanation. The word meant nothing to Kuja. "Just ignore them." They passed several buildings held up by little more than some metal bars and stone, and several others that had simply collapsed. A young girl sat amidst the rubble of one building, playing with a doll. Kuja stared at her as they walked past, wondering how someone even younger than he was could survive in a city like this. She gave him no more than a bored glance before returning to her doll, and he made himself look away. If Neirin had even noticed her, he gave no indication. "Carnival," he murmured, looking around. "You'd think a carnival would be easier to see."

In the end, it _was_ easy. Quite suddenly they found themselves standing before a large tent, lit from within. From inside arose screams, and Kuja was deeply disturbed to discover he couldn't tell if they were screams of pain or pleasure. The sound of whips cracking came from inside the tent. "The carnal carnival," Neirin mused aloud, staring at the tent. "Only in Belapest." He rolled his eyes. "Let's go. We've an auction house to find."

As it turned out, the beggar hadn't been wrong – the auction house really _did_ stand out. It was immense, stretching nearly the length of the entire block. In its heyday, it had likely been a sight to behold. Now… now, it had fallen into disrepair and disuse. As they drew closer, Neirin explained that the auction house had specialized in the exchange of slaves, before his own great-great-grandfather had outlawed slavery. After that, the auction house had struggled to bring in enough money to maintain itself, but by then, Belapest itself had begun its downward spiral, and there weren't enough traders to make up for the loss of profits. And as a result, the auction house had finally closed its doors forever. A tragic story, but Kuja was happy to see the building standing silent and empty. He didn't quite know what _slavery_ was, but he thought he got the general idea – it was something bad, and it had been stopped for good. The building stood like a crumbling, untended monument: its roof was caving in, the windows were broken, the walls were leaning. Empty.

Still…

"Are we… going in there?" he asked, dreading the answer. They had to go in. There was no other way to get a map. Without answering, Neirin stepped toward the large, elegantly-carved doors, and reached for the handle. Something crept along Kuja's spine, and he felt sick. Something seemed wrong; something seemed… _off_. "The doors," he said aloud. Neirin paused, looking back at him quizzically. "Look at the doors," he repeated, pointing. On either side of the doors were clear holes where nails had been, and on the ground, tucked alongside the stone stairs, were rotted boards. "Someone pulled the boards off the doors. Someone's _in _there."

"Or someone broke in, hoping to steal some lingering items from the auction's heyday, and they're now long gone," Neirin said, smirking. "You're so _paranoid, _Kuja. It's unbecoming in a child. Anyway, I can handle any thieves we might happen to encounter. You don't doubt that, I hope." Truth be told, Kuja had forgotten Neirin's display of power against the cultists; it felt like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare. He'd half-hoped it _had _been something out of a nightmare. Still, Neirin had a point, and if _Neirin_ thought it was safe…

When no further arguments arose, Neirin returned his attention to the door and pushed it open. The ancient hinges protested loudly, and a rush of stale air and dust washed out to greet them. The prince stepped into the dusty darkness, coughing as he looked around. "He said the cartographer was in the basement, didn't he?" he asked, and Kuja nodded, following somewhat hesitantly, but following nonetheless.

The building was surprisingly well-lit from the lights outside, but Kuja found himself wishing it wasn't. There was a long, broad hallway stretching off seemingly into oblivion, and against one wall stood a long platform. Outlawed slavery or not, there were rusted manacles chained to the platform. "They used to have the slaves stand there before an auction," Neirin explained. Though there was no one to catch them here, the prince spoke in hushed tones. "I guess they kept the chains in hopes that the trade would come back." Kuja shivered and looked away. Neirin looked around, seeking a way to the basement. Neither of them seemed particularly eager to explore the place much further than the entrance – for all his love of adventure, Kuja had no great fondness for dark places, and this place had a history he couldn't comprehend. Cautiously, Neirin stepped further into the building, toward the auctioneer's stage. Part of the roof had collapsed onto the stage, and water had ruined and rotted the once-rich fabric that had formed the curtains. Now, the curtains hung wet and rotten with holes, looking like nothing so much as faces leering in the moonlight. Kuja stood near the door, unwilling to move further until Neirin located the basement; he didn't want to step to where those faces could see him.

"The auctioneer should have had _some_ access to the basement; that's where they would have stored everything," Neirin murmured, stepping gingerly around the damaged stage. Unwilling to lose sight of him, Kuja moved reluctantly over to the stage. Fortunately, this close, the curtains looked like nothing more than that – curtains. Still, the boy couldn't quite shake the terror that had settled over him; was it truly just that the place was dark and abandoned? Or was it something _else_? It felt as if someone were watching from the shadows, but whenever he looked, there was nothing there. He looked up through the hole in the ceiling, as though checking the sky itself for watching faces, but instead he found only the stars.

"Calm down," Neirin said, glancing at him. "You're too skittish for your own good. If I haven't found it in the next few minutes, we'll call the beggar a liar and leave." For all his bravado, Neirin sounded less than sure of himself; the atmosphere of the auction house was doing nothing for his nerves. He made a show of probing around the stage a moment, before apparently deciding there was no basement to be found. "The beggar was a liar," he declared, the second before Kuja said, "I see something." The boy pointed toward a corner, concealed by another rotted curtain, where sure enough, a door was visible. Neirin nodded. "I daresay you do."

He brushed aside the curtain and studied the door. "It'll be dark down there, don't you think?" he asked, and lifted a hand. Kuja watched him, confused. Nothing happened. What was he trying to do? A moment passed. Neirin stood frozen for a moment, then closed his hand. He had gone terrifyingly still. Kuja took a step toward him. "No," Neirin said quietly, and the boy stopped. The prince turned to face him, and in the moonlight, his face was deathly pale. "Kuja, something's wrong; you were right – we have to get out of-"

He didn't get the chance to finish his words. The door flew open, and a large man surged forward, wrapping an arm around Neirin's neck. From the stairwell beyond the door, Taharka emerged, his lips parted to begin yet another of his speeches.

Kuja didn't remember moving.

In the years to come, he would never remember or recapture what came over him in that moment.

He reached for the rotted curtains above the stage, yanking on them with all the force an eight-year-old boy could muster. The curtains needed very little of that strength. They tore away from the curtain rod like wet paper, landing heavily on Kuja, on Neirin and his assailant, on Taharka, pinning them all beneath it. He wriggled out from under it. Kuja didn't remember grabbing the splintered piece of wood, taken from the wreckage on the stage. He didn't remember burying the sharp edge of the wood into the arm wrapped around Neirin's throat, but he remembered the way the man screamed afterwards, and he remembered Neirin gasping for air in the seconds before he tore free of the arm and the curtain.

He remembered running out into the night air, covered in hot blood, looking back to make sure Neirin was still there, like a pale shadow. He remembered Taharka screaming, enraged, somewhere within the auction house.

After that, he supposed, was when he fainted.

xxx

It was dawn when he woke. Dawn, and raining. His head pounded. He groaned miserably, curling into a ball; he was cold and wet and he wanted to go back to sleep. The rain spattered against his face, and he tried to cover it with his arm. The sleeve of his shirt felt oddly stiff, and he opened one eye, curiously. The white fabric had turned red. When had that happened? Drowsily, he sat up, looking down. No, the rest of his shirt seemed white enough; just the sleeves seemed to be spattered in red. And the red was stiff and dark, almost brown, almost like…

"Blood?" he yelped, looking at his hands in terror. Sure enough, they were red-brown and sticky and littered with splinters. Where had he gotten splinters?

He remembered screaming, running… Neirin's gasp. Neirin. Where was Neirin? The boy looked around wildly, terrified that the prince had left him behind when he'd fallen asleep… or worse, that Taharka had captured Neirin.

Luckily, Neirin sat nearby, staring at him. Kuja felt his anxiety unbind within him, like a knot he hadn't known was there.

"You saved me," Neirin said softly, his expression strange and distant. "I got you into that mess, and you _saved_ me."

Kuja didn't understand for a moment. Then he looked down at his red hands and arms, and comprehension dawned – he had _stabbed_ the man. He must have. He didn't remember it, but he must have. The blood… the blood had to belong to the man who had grabbed Neirin; Taharka's follower. And the splinters… Kuja picked at them, trying to pry them loose. Nothing else made sense.

"I didn't think he'd go there," Neirin was saying. "I… I thought he'd look for me in Traje first; I thought he'd look _anywhere_ else first… I thought…" Kuja looked up. There were tears standing in the prince's blue eyes, though none had fallen yet.

It struck him then that Neirin was not as infallible as he'd believed. Neirin was a prince, but first and foremost, he was a normal person. He was sixteen, and had lived his entire life under the protection of his guardians. He was sheltered. He was not familiar with the world; he was not perfect; he was not as prepared for this kind of life as he'd thought himself to be.

That was the day Kuja realized Neirin was not invincible.

And that was the day Kuja decided _he_ would have to be.

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**Author's Note:** Oh god this chapter didn't turn out like I wanted it to, but I blame that on technical difficulties. I hope it's enjoyable, anyway!


	9. Things Like Shoes

**Author's Note:** Yet another pair of new people! Hello and welcome to the fic, Eterniawolf and Elia41; I hope you continue to read and enjoy. Pip, Kuja has a fair amount of ass-kicking to do before the fic is over, so it's a good thing he's getting in some early practice. Eterniawolf, I'm glad you found my fic, and I'm glad you like it! I hope it continues to live up to your expectations. On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Nine: Things Like Shoes**

Four rainy days passed, and in those days, despite the weather, Neirin's mood improved considerably. It seemed for the entire world as if he had never been attacked in the dark, and had Kuja not lived through it, he might have believed it himself. As it was, he was much slower to return to normalcy – he found himself staring into shadows, trying to see if perhaps Taharka was lurking within. The road was mostly empty, until they were well away from Belapest. Then, slowly but surely, they began to encounter travelers. None of them seemed to recognize the prince, as many of them came from the eastern regions and had never been to Traje, themselves. They all seemed surprised that the two of them had ventured to Belapest, and most were curious to know if they had been in the city when someone had been attacked in the old auction house.

Naturally, they lied. The lie was more believable than they'd expected, but then, they'd cut off the bloody sleeves on Kuja's shirt, and Kuja had done his best to wash out the rest of the blood in a pond. He'd washed Neirin's as well (for of course Neirin refused to scrub his own clothing), but the prince's clothes were darker – the blood was less obvious, and therefore easier to conceal. In any case, no one bothered to inquire further into whether they'd been in Belapest at the time; they simply explained what had happened.

The story had changed somewhat from the original incident, but the details remained the same. As the story went, two young noblemen had broken into the auction house to look for a map, but had run afoul of a group of thieves who had also broken in, hoping to find and steal some valuables. Witnesses had seen two people fleeing into the night, followed some time later by several others, though not in the same direction.

"So he's lost us for now," Neirin mused, when they were alone again. "He doesn't know which gate we left from, if he didn't follow us through the gate. I expect he didn't know you'd be with me… or didn't think you'd pose much of a threat, if he did." He frowned. "He won't make that mistake again, most likely." Kuja agreed, but he rather hoped they _wouldn't_ run into Taharka again – not any time soon, at least. He wasn't certain he could be impossibly reckless twice in a row. The next time, he might simply freeze up and panic, and _then _what would happen? He shuddered and forced himself not to think of it. He'd worry about it again if the time came.

The rain stopped on the fifth day, and they took the time to strip out of their drenched clothing and allow the clothes – and themselves – to dry. Neirin complained that he was drenched to the bone, but at least his traveler's boots were waterproof. Kuja's feet were wrinkled and pale, soaked and painful. He let his shoes and stockings dry out, as well, but by the time the rest of his clothing had dried, the shoes were still wet, and he trudged miserably after Neirin, his shoes squelching uncomfortably the entire way. He'd have been just as content to go without shoes entirely, but the roads were paved with rocks, and they'd have cut his feet. He'd promised not to slow Neirin down, and injured feet would undoubtedly do just that, so he squished along after the prince, forcing himself to believe that eventually – _eventually_ – his shoes would dry properly.

As it turned out, he was still squelching by nightfall.

"We'll have to stop in the next town and find you some decent boots," Neirin sighed, lighting a fire after they'd stopped walking for the night. Kuja's eyes widened in alarm; this would be the first unnecessary side-trip they'd been forced to make thus far, and it would be _his_ fault. Surely that counted as slowing their progress. Would Neirin leave him behind? His terror must have shown on his face, because the prince rolled his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, stop that. I knew those shoes would have to be replaced sooner or later." It did little to soothe Kuja's anxiety. Entering another town meant entering another place where Taharka might find them, whether he'd lost their trail or not. Kuja was young, but he wasn't stupid enough to assume the cultist didn't have eyes and ears in every town; eyes and ears that would _recognize_ Neirin when they saw him.

The prince seemed not to realize the danger, however, just as he hadn't recognized the danger at the auction house. The next town was only a small village, after all; it would be difficult to conceal a spy among a small population. Kuja didn't feel it was his place to point out that a cultist could look like a normal person, or that not all enemies wore black cloaks. Neirin was in high spirits again, and for just a little while, Kuja was prepared to pretend the prince was right. Maybe this one village – just this _one_ village – didn't harbor any of Taharka's cultists.

He stretched out on the still-damp blue-green grass and breathed in the scent of the mud below, before rolling over to stare up at the stars overhead. It was easy to believe everything was right with the world when the natural world remained unchanged. It was easy to pretend Taharka didn't exist when Neirin was in a bright mood, and when there were no other people around for as far as the eye could see. They'd made camp in a low valley, cradled between the foothills of the surrounding mountains. They were entering the mountainous region now, to the east of Belapest and the rest of the world Kuja knew of. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the rain was likely gone for the time being, and the clouds were blowing away overhead. Birds flittered overhead, and some animals prowled out in the grass, but they seemed uninterested in the two travelers. For the moment, Kuja allowed himself to believe he and the prince were safe. He smiled uncertainly at the stars, wishing for a wishing star.

Meanwhile, Neirin was playing with the fire, which of course he'd sparked by magic. It grew and shrank as Neirin opened and closed his hand, and Kuja watched, fascinated. He'd never seen magic in Bran Bal, and even this simple trick seemed mystifyingly impossible.

"How do you _do_ that?" He asked, sitting up. Neirin glanced up at him, then back at the fire.

"It's a pretty basic trick. You just-"

Kuja shook his head, cutting him off. "No, not that. All of it. How do you do… magic?" Neirin stared at him, obviously stunned that he'd been interrupted, but Kuja failed not notice it. Manners were a low priority when his curiosity took over.

Regardless, Neirin simply shook his head and replied, refusing to comment on the rudeness of a small child. "My family can all do it. It's… I don't necessarily want to say it's in our _blood_, because to be honest, it comes from the soul. When the First Kings came to rule Terra, their souls and those of their heirs were… _marked_, somehow; you'd have to ask a priest or historian for a proper explanation. Anyway, their souls were marked, and they were granted the power they needed to hold their rule over Terra – what we call magic. That power was passed down through their bloodlines, but the purest strain was held in the souls of the Kings themselves. When they died, their souls passed into the next heir to be born. It skipped some early generations, but for the most part, there was always magic in the blood of the king. Those souls passed from cycle to cycle, always reborn in the souls of leaders and rulers, right down to this cycle, right down to _me_." He smiled. "There's some diluted magic to be found in any offspring the rulers may have had with commoners, because _some_ of the magic is there in the blood. Hell, there could very well be some magic in _your_ blood; you're from the right area. But the pure strain can only be found in my family. Years of interbreeding between the high families have kept it pure."

Kuja listened in mingled disbelief and absorption; it sounded just like something from one of the old stories. But it might be true! The world was full of odd things, things stranger than anything he'd ever dreamed of back in quiet little Bran Bal.

"So… you can do anything?" he asked, his eyes widening.

Neirin laughed. "Not _anything_. And I'm not exactly… very good with it. I've never really had to learn how to control it. I can do little things, but nothing terribly impressive." Kuja felt as if everything he'd seen thus far qualified for "terribly impressive," but he kept his opinion to himself. "Lich has a bit of the diluted blood I mentioned earlier, so he can use a bit of magic, himself. He said he'd try to teach me when I came of age." The prince fell silent then, gazing into the fire. It danced in his eyes, but it looked as if he wasn't seeing the fire at all – his mind was elsewhere, likely wondering what had become of Lich and the others. Kuja found he'd rather not wonder at all.

xxx

Kuja was stiff and uncomfortable when they woke in the morning, but at least he was dry. The sky overhead was clear and lavender in the early light of sunrise, and a faint mist clung to the ground. Kuja yawned, trying to stretch out the knots in his back. Neirin was already up and ready to go, and had been for quite some time – he was a surprisingly early riser, despite his royal upbringing. Kuja had noticed as much over the past few days. No matter how early he woke, Neirin was always awake first, and always ready to leave. The boy wondered if Neirin ever slept, or if perhaps he slept poorly. He was never awake long enough to see. Without fail, Kuja tended to fall asleep quickly and easily, worn out after long days of walking without pause. Children his age were filled with boundless energy, but even children weren't meant to walk, never stopping, from sunup to sundown.

He was falling into the pattern, though. Little by little, he was adjusting to the strenuous demands of a life on the run, and he thought perhaps he was less sore this morning than he had been before. The aches in his back and legs weren't as sharp anymore, and he no longer got as hungry as he had at first. He'd stopped falling back to sleep just after waking up, and he didn't feel the desire to take multiple breaks from walking. He no longer gazed longingly at the towns they passed, wanting a bed or a hot meal. He was getting stronger. After only eight days, he was toughening up. He wondered what he'd be like after a year… and then found himself hoping he wouldn't be _traveling_ in a year.

"We're just going to buy you a pair of boots," Neirin said as they began walking again. His voice echoed in the valley; Kuja hadn't noticed that the night before. "Just a pair of boots, and then we'll move on. We've got enough supplies to make it quite a while longer before we have to stop to replenish them." Kuja still felt guilty for being the reason they had to stop at _all_ – had he not been along, there would have been no need for Neirin to put himself in danger.

Granted, had he not been along, Neirin may have died in Belapest.

It was hard to measure his own worth on this journey.

The road out of the valley was long, and Kuja's still-damp shoes squished the entire way. Eventually Neirin started chuckling at the sound – it interrupted the otherwise perfect silence that tended to settle between them as they walked, for they had nothing to talk about and much to think about. Then, after Neirin started, Kuja found it was contagious, and together they laughed at the sound of Kuja's pathetic, ruined shoes. They'd been fine slipper-like things, intended only for walking around the manor. They'd truly been ruined by the end of the _first_ day, on the road between the manor and Belapest, but they'd been wearable. Now they were caked with mud, soaked through to the sole, and squelching hilariously. There was little enough else to laugh about.

In this state, laughing and squishing, they reached the small village. Neither of them troubled to ask the name of the tiny town, because of course they didn't intend to stay for very long. The only store the village had that carried clothing and shoes didn't have any boots of decent quality, but they managed to buy a fair enough pair of shoes – shoes that might not fall apart the next time it rained.

"I'm sorry you had to stop for this," Kuja finally managed, testing out the new shoes. They were loose, but as Neirin had said before, he was at a growing age.

"You saved my life." Neirin shrugged. "Things like shoes seem petty next to that, don't they?"

In addition to the shoes, Neirin bought himself a dagger. Kuja knew nothing about weapons, but Neirin informed him that it wasn't of the _best_ quality, but it would still kill. Kuja didn't have to ask to know why the prince had decided to buy a weapon – he didn't want to be caught off-guard by Taharka again. The boy wanted a weapon of his own, but knew he was too young and too unskilled; he'd likely do more harm to _himself_ than any enemies. So he simply gazed longingly at the daggers along the walls, many of them flecked with rust, all of them more useful than his bare hands would ever be.

"Ah, a moment, sir," the shopkeeper called, as they were preparing to leave the shop. Neirin glanced back, curious. "I've just remembered. There's a man in the tavern. He asked to be informed of any travelers passing through, and he asked that we send any travelers to see him. I don't know if you're the people he was waiting for, but if you've just a moment…"

The prince's eyes flashed, and his hand rested on his new dagger. "Thank you. I'll go speak to him."

Kuja followed him out of the shop, wishing more than ever that he'd been given a weapon. It had to be Taharka. Who else could it be? "He's gotten careless if he's being this obvious about it," Neirin said through clenched teeth. "Maybe we made him angrier than we thought. That, or he doesn't expect me to be armed." That seemed likely. Kuja relaxed slightly; thus far, Taharka had been forced to rely on two things: the element of surprise, and the fact that Neirin _wasn't_ armed. This time, he had surrendered the element of surprise, and the prince had bought a weapon. Surely they wouldn't be caught at a disadvantage _this _time. Surely.

The tavern was at the far end of the village, and in the late morning, it wasn't busy. That was the first thing Neirin checked, of course; if the building was full, he'd have simply left altogether. Kuja followed him closely, looking around for something he might be able to use to injure Taharka the way he'd injured the man's accomplice in Belapest. There was no such thing to be found here. "Well, here we go," Neirin said, brushing aside the curtains at the entrance. Inside it was surprisingly well-lit, and very few people sat around, drinking and chatting. Kuja looked around nervously, looking for any sign of Taharka or his men. He was so caught up in looking for _Taharka_ that it didn't occur to him to look for anyone _else_, and as a result, he completely overlooked the man sitting in the far corner of the tavern, and might never have noticed him if he hadn't stood up and approached them.

"I thought I'd _never_ find you, boy."

The two of them flinched backwards, and Neirin drew the dagger. That was as far as he got, however, before the man caught his wrist and pried the weapon out of his fingers quickly and easily. Kuja reacted by headbutting the man squarely in the stomach, which was marginally more effective; the man was surprised, and he dropped the weapon and staggered back several steps. Neirin snatched the dagger up quickly. By now, several of the other people in the tavern were watching with some interest, and Kuja found he was surprised by the lack of damage the man was doing; he was easily twice their _combined_ size.

The man didn't attack again. Instead, he laughed.

Kuja was confused, until he looked at the man's face. In the same moment, Neirin had the same realization, and he dropped the dagger again.

"_Tiamat?_" The stunned prince asked, his eyes widening. Sure enough, strange though he looked without his armor, the man was Tiamat. He rubbed his stomach where Kuja had headbutted him, and shook his head.

"Good guard dog you've got there. Maybe he's not as useless as we thought." Kuja thought he ought to be offended, but instead, he felt absurdly proud. He _wasn't_ useless. He'd managed to surprise Tiamat. "Come with me. I've got a room upstairs, and we've got a lot to talk about." They followed him up quietly, though Kuja could see Neirin was about to burst with questions. There were some things that couldn't be discussed in an open place, though, so the questions had to wait.

They waited no longer than the moment the door closed behind Neirin, however. "What _happened?_" He demanded, staring at Tiamat. "I thought you'd have found me before _now_! Where are the others? How did you get away? Can I go home yet?" Kuja stretched out on the bed uninvited, and closed his eyes. Even if it was only for a short while, he wanted to sleep on a real bed again. Let Neirin ask his questions, let Tiamat answer them, _he_ was going to sleep for however long this discussion lasted. Besides, maybe if they got lucky, they _could_ go back to Traje, and that would be the end of it.

There was a pause before Tiamat answered. "The other three were alive the last time I saw 'em," he said bluntly. "Whether they're still that way is anyone's guess. We didn't know where you'd gone off to, so we went different ways. I headed east, Kraken went west, I think Maliris headed north, so Lich went south. We figured we'd catch up to you eventually. I've been staying at towns along the way, hoping you might be stupid enough to head into town eventually. Didn't know how I'd catch you otherwise. I hear the rumors, though. That nasty business in Belapest; you had something to do with that?" Neirin must have nodded, because Tiamat continued. "Thought so. It sounded like something Taharka might've set up. From what I understand, he must've recruited a barkeep to help him, because the poor bastard was found dead the next day. You slashed his throat?"

"Slashed his throat?" Neirin sounded surprised, and Kuja couldn't blame him. He opened his eyes, startled. "No, we didn't slash anyone's throat. Kuja stabbed him in the arm with a bit of old wood, that's all."

"Kuja?" Tiamat looked at him, obviously surprised. "I'm starting to think Lich was onto something with that 'god-touched' business. Keep that one with you, Neirin. Don't let him out of your sight for a _minute_." Kuja closed his eyes again, in order to better enjoy the feeling of utter pride that washed over him. He was _special_.

Neirin sighed. "I wasn't planning on it. He's surprisingly useful. Still, he didn't slash anyone's throat. You're sure that's how the man was found?"

"No, not really. It's all rumors." Tiamat sat on the foot of the bed, disturbing Kuja only slightly. "But he was dead, that's for sure. I've suffered a few stabbings in my arm in my lifetime, and they've never resulted in _death_. Sounds like Taharka's killing off his own men if they fail. Gives 'em some encouragement to be a little better about holding onto you, doesn't it?"

"As if they needed encouragement." Neirin sighed again. "So I take it we can't go home yet."

Tiamat was silent for a long moment before responding, and Kuja felt his heart sink. "He burned most of Traje to the ground and butchered as much of the population as he could catch." The news came as a crushing blow, and Kuja heard Neirin fall against the wall. "He couldn't risk you returning to the city and raising a civilian army. I hear they've been doing the same thing in any town you might seek asylum in. Any cities with any ties at all to the royal family are being put to the torch. You won't find any easy sanctuary, no matter where you go."

"So where am I supposed to _go_?" Neirin demanded, and his voice cracked. "I could run forever and I'd still get caught. Nowhere on this thrice-damned continent is _safe_!"

"And there you have it," Tiamat said simply. "You'll have to leave the mother continent."

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**Author's Note:** Well, things just keep getting better and better for Neirin and Kuja, don't they? See you next week!


	10. Old Friends, New Foes

**Author's Note:** Holy crap, is this chapter ten? This _is_ chapter ten! Wow, I can't believe I've actually made it this far. And a new reader! XitaUnlucky, welcome to the fic, and thank you for the review; I do try very hard on characterization. Elia41, if you ever do write a past!fic, by all means, link me – it's the sort of thing I love reading. Pip, yes, it is a very good thing that they're getting more comfortable with each other, because they're going to be stuck with each other for quite some time yet. And last but not least, JessRangel, _yay_ for their persistent stalker, who fortunately is less dangerous than their _other_ stalker. And wow, you guys, that was four reviews on one chapter, and one new story-stalker! You guys make me turn dangerous shades of "Oh, my, you shouldn't have!" red. On with chapter ten!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Ten: Old Friends, New Foes**

"What do you _mean_ you haven't found him yet?" Taharka's voice was deceptively calm, but his eyes were murderous. The cultists before him flinched, but he found he couldn't manage to feel remorse for them. Three days. _Three days_, and still no sign of Neirin. Taharka could be infinitely patient, but only if he knew his next step – and he _always_ knew his next step. Until now. They had no definite knowledge of which direction Neirin may have gone after leaving Belapest, and no witnesses they could trust – some claimed to have seen a pair of boys fleeing from the east gate; others claimed to have seen the same pair heading north. No one could say with absolute certainty that the boys they'd seen were covered in blood. It had been dark, after all, and blood was a common sight in Belapest.

Taharka had _needed_ to capture Neirin in Belapest.

The city was, indeed, a crossroad. There was no telling where the boy might go after leaving it; Taharka had known this was perhaps his last chance to catch Neirin _himself_; he didn't trust his followers' competency in the matter. It should have been simple. He'd worn the stone; Neirin was powerless. Taharka had been fortunate enough to discover a local barkeep who followed the teachings of his order, and when he'd explained the situation, the man had been more than happy to help out. Taharka hadn't mentioned, of course, that the boy he was attempting to capture was the _prince_, but the man hadn't asked many questions. He _had_ mentioned that he had a friend, a beggar who lived in the alley behind his tavern; a friend who might be willing to steer their intended target in the right direction. Taharka had thought it was all a sign: everything falling so easily into place, everything going so smoothly in his favor. It was a sign; it had to be. A sign that he was meant to succeed; that he was doing the right thing. He and the barkeep had hidden in the old auction house, waiting until nightfall. The beggar hadn't failed them: early in the evening, Neirin had plucked his way into the building.

It all should have been so simple.

Taharka hadn't counted on the child.

He remembered Neirin's little pet, the brat who had made a laughingstock out of him. He'd believed the boy had died, like everyone else, at the castle. He had assumed Neirin was traveling alone and unarmed – Neirin was nothing if not arrogant and naïve, and he seldom thought of himself as anything short of infallible, all of which would have only served to _help_ Taharka capture him. But the _child_. Orphans were uncannily good at surviving, and this one was no exception. Had he not been there to see it, Taharka might have never believed it. The boy couldn't be even ten years old, yet he'd managed to bury a jagged piece of wood deep in the barkeep's arm, and of course the idiot had let Neirin go. Covered in the wet, rotted curtain, Taharka could only watch in helpless rage as Neirin had vanished into the night, the blood-covered boy close behind.

It had taken him a full hour to free himself from beneath the filthy curtain, by which time the barkeep was nearly dead from the loss of blood. The fool hadn't even tried to free himself from the curtain; perhaps if he had, he might have survived. Taharka might have helped him had he only kept his mouth shut.

_"Wasn't that the prince?"_

The words still infuriated him. Taharka rose from his seat at the head of the cavernous room (the cultists flinched back again, but this time, he ignored them) and stalked off toward the nearest hall. _Wasn't that the prince?_ The man had balked at the thought of hunting down the prince, no matter how many times Taharka had tried to explain that it was necessary. In the end, the barkeep had threatened to turn Taharka in to the city authorities. Impotent as these so-called "authorities" were, it wasn't a risk the cultist was prepared to take. The barkeep had to be dealt with. Taharka had killed him fairly easily; he hadn't expected the attack. Afterwards, Taharka had killed the beggar, as well, to cover his bases – he hardly needed the man to tell anyone about the conspiracy they'd laid out that night. Naturally, beggars and whores died constantly in Belapest, so no one questioned the beggar's death. The barkeep, though, found in the previously-sealed auction house… that had roused more suspicion than Taharka had hoped.

Thus far, no one seemed eager to suspect him; of course he had no _reason _to kill a random bartender. The popular theory seemed to be that thieves had broken in. But no one connected the two boys and the murder, so the authorities seemed unconcerned with hunting them down. Taharka almost wished he'd thought to make it seem as if Neirin and his brat were guilty of the man's murder. It would have been far easier to hunt him down if there were _others_ hunting him, as well.

Taharka sighed, willing himself to calm down. There was nothing to be done about it now. They could only hope to track Neirin down again, somewhere along the line. There was no need to hurry, he assured himself. Haste would lead to mistakes, like the one in Belapest. As long as Garland was created before Terra's fall, all would be well.

"You know, you shouldn't think so much. People who think too much never get much done." The voice sliced through Taharka's thoughts, and he scowled at the interruption. He had decided, having lost Neirin twice already, that perhaps hiring mercenaries skilled in tracking people might be to their advantage. After two days of enduring the mercenaries, he already regretted the decision. Most of them were loud, brash, and, in the case of _this _one, intent on seducing every female member of his order. In only two days, the bastard had apparently found his way into the beds of no less than five women, in one case being discovered with _two_ at once. It was disgusting.

"Jalen," Taharka said, trying to convey the contempt he felt with one word.

It wasn't effective. "Aw, you remembered my name?" The man grinned, stepping out of the shadows. Jalen – of _course_ he remembered the useless bastard's name – was short in stature, but made up for it with a personality that was easily twice his own size. He was from the southern region, of course, and he had the blond hair, blue eyes, and lightly-tanned skin to prove it, with none of the humility that was supposedly bred into the citizens of the south. Jalen was quick to smile and laugh at everything, always ready with a jest. Taharka despised him.

"You haven't started looking for Neirin." The sooner he started, the sooner he would be _gone_. "_None_ of you have."

Jalen shrugged. "You haven't exactly told us where to start looking. We're trackers, sure, but we're not miracle workers, and we're not mind-readers." He leaned against the wall again. "All you've said is that you're looking for the prince, and you _think_ he left Belapest three days ago. That gives us, at best, one city to search. At worst, we could search the entire damn countryside and never find a single track. You know it's been raining, don't you? Tracks get washed away in the rain."

"So you're saying you're useless."

"Not useless." Jalen smirked. "We just need somewhere to _start_. Somewhere definite. I'll tell you what. Tomorrow, four of us will go to Belapest and start looking around by the gates. Eventually a clue will turn up. Does that sound adequate?"

It would have to do… for now.

xxx

Following Tiamat's declaration, silence settled in the room. Kuja sat up, looking at Neirin with trepidation. Leave the continent? His heart pounded so loudly he was sure the other two must be able to hear it, but they didn't look at him. They stared at each other. Tiamat's expression was carefully guarded, but Neirin's was anything but. The boy watched as the prince's face shifted from shock to confusion, and then from confusion… to defiance.

"I will _not_ leave the continent," Neirin said flatly, his slender fingers curling into fists. "This is _my _continent. I am the rightful _king_ of this continent. I'm not going to flee just because Taharka thinks he can _scare _me."

"But you _are_ scared!" Kuja blurted, remembering the surreal morning when he'd woken up covered in blood to find Neirin shivering and terrified, telling him that he'd saved the prince's life. Neirin's fear had almost been _tangible_; there was no denying it. Still, he wished he hadn't said anything. He looked away, afraid to see the prince's reaction – he would be left behind for _sure_ now. At least he had decent shoes now, he thought absently, chewing his lip. But Neirin _was _scared. Kuja wasn't blind. He'd seen the fear in Neirin's eyes when he realized he couldn't call up any magic, there in the auction house; he'd seen it when Taharka and his man had emerged from the darkness.

"I am _not_ scared," Neirin half-shouted, and Kuja flinched, keeping his head ducked. "And I will _not_ be chased out of my own kingdom by some witless, terrorizing _heretic_. I'm armed now, and I'm ready for him at every turn – he'll never catch _this_ prey unwary again!"

Tiamat listened, his expression unchanging. "Do you have a plan?" he asked blandly, and Neirin faltered. "I think your guard dog has more sense to him than you do, _king_." He threw the title back scathingly, and Neirin had the grace to look just slightly embarrassed. "Taharka's cult is fairly widespread, so he has eyes, ears, and knives everywhere on the continent. He's put any city that might raise an army for you to the torch. He has more resources than we do, at the moment. How were you planning to _survive_ staying on the mother continent, exactly? You know he's looking for you. He could be in this village, right this very moment. If he was, he could march right up to you and kill you, and quite frankly, there's not a damn thing you could do about it."

"That's not-"

"You forget who trained you to fight, boy?" Tiamat's eyes narrowed. "You're useless with a blade; you rely on magic, and magic can't save you from that pretty rock Taharka wears around his neck. The boy-" He jerked a thumb in Kuja's direction. "-is better in a fight than you are, and he isn't even _armed_. I was able to pluck that shiny little toy right out of your hand, wasn't I? And I wasn't even _expecting _a fight. Taharka will be, from now on. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to kill your little guard dog." Kuja looked up sharply, his eyes wide with shocked terror. Tiamat didn't seem to notice or care. "And if he does, no one's gonna save you. My guess is Kuja would be better with the blade than you'd ever be, and he hasn't had a day of training in his life." Kuja was still terrified by this line of discussion, but intrigued by the thought that he might get a weapon of his own.

Neirin looked like a thundercloud. "I can _learn_," he said bitterly. "Just because I was never any good at fighting stuffed dummies hardly means I couldn't fight if my life depended on it. I learn quickly. Lich always said as much."

"Oh, I won't argue with that," Tiamat shrugged. "You pick up lessons and little magic tricks the way most boys your age pick up girls, but you don't have a head for blades. Not that I'm not glad you picked one up. Even _you _know to stick 'em with the pointy end, and when it comes down to it, that might be all you need to know. Taharka might not expect you to be armed. If you catch him off-guard, be sure that knife ends up in his _heart_."

"I know _that_," Neirin spat, scowling petulantly. This conversation was obviously not going according to plan. Kuja glanced anxiously between the two, wishing they'd stop. This wasn't the sort of reunion he'd been hoping for.

Fortunately, Tiamat seemed to be finished. "Well? Do you have a plan? If not, I'm dragging you by the hair to the next port city and tossing your ass on the next ship to whatever continent the captain so chooses." Kuja knew he ought to be surprised by the language, but Tiamat was easily the least-reverent of the guardians… and the boy didn't doubt for one minute that the man was completely serious. He looked back at Neirin, wondering. He personally had no desire to leave the continent – he'd barely managed to dredge up the courage to leave the _castle_ – but… it _would_ be an adventure. In the stories, people were _always _traveling to new lands. All the same, he hadn't really seen all that _this_ continent had to offer, either.

Neirin glared defiantly for a moment longer, then slowly, unbelievably, he relented. "You have a valid point," he said simply. "I _don't_ have a plan. And I suppose… we can think of a plan for the new continent while we're on the way to a port. The nearest one would be… what, Jaranesa? About two days' walk from here, if I remember my geography."

Tiamat eyed him suspiciously. "More or less."

"And you're coming too, I expect?" Neirin crossed the room and sat down on the other bed, folding his hands gracefully in his lap. "You wouldn't leave me so soon, surely."

"Of course I'm coming," Tiamat replied, turning around now that his back was to Neirin. "I'd like to send word to the others, but there's no way to manage it without risking interception. They'll have to find out for themselves. I expect Kraken'll find out you didn't head her way pretty quickly, though, so she might get lucky and find her way to this town in time. I could leave a message for someone matching her description, I suppose… or the other two, but the chances they'll come here are next to nothing. I doubt Kraken will find us with any real haste, though; she's got a liability tagging along."

"Liability?" Kuja perked up, curious. _Could it be…?_

Tiamat seemed not to notice the hope in his voice. "That servant girl. You know the one; the one who dragged you to the throne. That… Alissa?"

"Elisi!" Kuja was overjoyed. She was _alive!_ He'd been so sure she was dead; he had struggled to convince himself not to think of her. There was nothing he wanted so much in that moment as to see her again, just to reassure himself that she _was_ alive. After all, she'd saved _his_ life.

Tiamat nodded. "That sounds about right. She wasn't in good shape, but she'll live. Seems like the bolt missed everything important. My guess is, though, Kraken'll drop her off as soon as she finds a good spot, then she'll try to find Neirin. Hopefully she'll make her way here. The best I can do is leave a message for her." He shrugged. "Leave a message, and hope for the best. We'll be long gone by that point."

xxx

They spent the night in the village. Tiamat arranged for the tavern keeper to hold a message for a woman matching Kraken's description. The note was necessarily vague – it said only, "_He's alive, we've left, T._" Kuja wondered if there was any sort of code in place for this sort of thing; if "we've left" would let Kraken know they had left the _continent_. He also wondered if Elisi would be with Kraken when she came to this village, or if Tiamat was right, and she'd drop the girl off at the first reasonably safe place. Logically speaking, he knew the latter was more likely, but he was still allowed to hope, and he hoped Kraken would come to the new continent… and bring Elisi with her.

Neither of the two others seemed particularly keen on sharing their beds, so Kuja slept on the floor. He found himself wishing he'd gotten at least a _bit_ of sleep while he'd had the bed mostly to himself earlier, but the floor was still a safer place to sleep than, say, a meadow or valley. At least it was dry. He drifted off comfortably, dreaming of nothing in particular. In the morning, he told himself, they would begin a new journey: a journey to a new continent, one that likely hadn't yet been fully explored. What an adventure _that_ would be…

Sometime just after midnight, he found himself being shaken out of his dreams. "Wha…?" he managed, blinking blearily in the darkness. He'd thought this would be the one night he _didn't_ have to get up before dawn. To his very mild surprise, he realized Neirin had woken him. "Neirin, what-"

"Hurry and get up," the prince whispered. "We're leaving." Kuja's gaze slid to Tiamat, who didn't seem to be awake at all. Indeed, he was snoring. "He's not coming. We're_ not_ going to Jaranesa. I'm _not_ leaving this continent."

And so it was that they snuck out of the room, past a sleeping guardian, and stalked out into the night. Kuja didn't bother asking where they were going. Neirin, however unlikely it seemed, appeared to have had a plan all along.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And so ends chapter ten! Again, thanks for sticking with me through ten chapters – I hope the rest of the fic is great, too.


	11. Becoming a Needle

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the shiny new chapter of Origins! To answer a question that was asked in the reviews in a much simpler way than I originally answered it: I really want this to be under thirty chapters. That is my goal. It sort of keeps getting longer and longer as certain plot points get dragged out or postponed, but I _want_ it to be less than thirty chapters in the long run.  
Pip, yeah, Neirin has a plan, it's just not a very thorough one. He's kind of the "big risks mean big payoffs" type of guy, strategy-wise. JessRangel, Neirin doesn't like being told what to do, even if it's for his own good – Tiamat won't be happy when he wakes up. And eterniawolf, let's find out!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Eleven: Becoming a Needle**

Kuja staggered after Neirin, half-asleep. The whole affair seemed like an odd dream, and the boy was sure he'd wake up from it soon enough. It was hard to see where they were going in the dark – rather than following the road, as they'd done from the very beginning, Neirin led the way into a nearby forest. There was little in the way of underbrush, but in this rocky, mountainous region, the forest had more than its fair share of boulders and loose gravel. Kuja found himself sliding down several steep inclines without ever knowing they were there. Not once did Neirin pause to help him; the prince moved as if he were possessed. Kuja could only imagine the prince moved so quickly for the sake of putting distance between Tiamat and themselves, but it was a more grueling pace than he was accustomed to, and he found himself falling behind more often than he liked.

Just before dawn, they emerged from the forest. In the dark violet mist, Kuja saw that they stood at the foot of a mountain… and tucked in among the massive stone structure, running alongside a stream, was a narrow, nearly-invisible path. Neirin looked around, clearly making sure no one had followed them, before letting out a heavy sigh.

"I thought for _sure_ he'd have followed us." Kuja rather wished Tiamat _had_ followed them. It was easier to believe in the illusion of safety when there was a professional swordsman with them. Besides, the guardian at least had a _plan_. As Neirin had said before, it was nice to have some idea of where to go next. "He probably _will_ follow us, once he wakes up," Neirin continued, slinging down the travel-pack he carried on his back. "But by then, we'll be long gone."

"What are we going to _do?_" Kuja asked, ashamed of the note of desperation that crept into his voice. "Tiamat said there's nowhere we can go that's safe; he said Taharka has eyes everywhere-"

"We're going to disappear." Neirin's voice was carefully flat. Kuja fell silent, mystified. _Disappear?_ "Taharka and his followers are looking for two wealthy-looking central-region travelers. The solution is simple – we stop _looking_ like two wealthy-looking central-region travelers." From his satchel, Neirin withdrew two rather crumpled-looking sets of clothing and… something in a glass bottle. Kuja eyed the bottle suspiciously; what sort of potion was Neirin planning to use? "If possible, we need to find someone else to travel with – _several _people, if we're particularly fortunate. We're too obvious as we are." Kuja felt the urge to point out that if they'd bothered to bring Tiamat along, this wouldn't be a problem, but he kept his opinion to himself, still staring at the bottle.

Neirin looked down to see what he was staring at, and laughed. "It's only a hair dye," he said simply, shaking his head. "Not even a particularly long-lasting one, at that. I had to take what I could steal-"

"_Steal_?" Kuja asked incredulously – it wasn't as if they couldn't _afford_ to buy anything; Neirin had been sure to bring as much money as he could carry.

"It was the middle of the night. It couldn't wait." Neirin shrugged, indifferent. "I'm certain Tiamat will compensate the storekeeper."

Kuja shook his head in disbelief. "You didn't have to _steal_ everything… and how did you manage to sneak in and out _twice _without Tiamat noticing?" He frowned, suddenly realizing how strange it all seemed. After all, wasn't Tiamat supposed to be trained to be alert when something unknown might threaten the prince? Sleep aside; it seemed highly unlikely that the guardian could sleep through the door opening and closing not once, but several times in the space of perhaps an hour.

Neirin stared blankly at him for a moment. "I'm a _mage_," he said simply. "Sleeping spells are remarkably basic. Even _I_ know how to manage it."

"So you abused your power," Kuja said miserably, sitting down and resting his head against his knees. It wasn't too late to go back and seek Tiamat's protection. Even as he considered it, he knew he'd never actually leave Neirin's side; he had already been declared Neirin's "god-touched guard dog," and no proper guard dog would ever leave its master. Besides, who _knew_ what trouble Neirin might get himself into if he wasn't there?

"Power is there to be used." Neirin sat a short distance away, still going through his satchel. "Who determines what constitutes an 'abuse' of power? You?" His blue eyes narrowed. "I'm running for the sake of my own survival, Kuja, and I don't have _time_ to skirt around your delicate sensibilities and avoid _abusing_ my power. Everything I do, I do to ensure that I won't _die_ is _slightly_ more important than trying to decide whether or not doing something constitutes an _abuse_ of power." Kuja looked away, wondering if the prince had a point – wasn't their survival more important than anything else? After all, Neirin _was_ the rightful ruler of the continent; by that coin, didn't that mean everything he did was forgivable? After all, so long as no one was _hurt_, everything could be fixed in the end, when Neirin reclaimed the throne…

"I…" He swallowed nervously. "I understand. I'm sorry."

Neirin nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good. Now come here." He reached for the bottle of dye, and Kuja reluctantly scooted over toward him. It wasn't that he was especially fond of his own hair color, no, but he didn't necessarily trust _Neirin_ to change it. He closed his eyes as the prince worked the dye into his silvery hair (it was cold, felt like mud, and smelled awful), trying to convince himself that Neirin knew what he was doing. After the dye had been worked thoroughly into his scalp, Neirin sat back to admire his handiwork. "It could be worse," he mused. "We'll just have to see how it looks when you've rinsed it out, I suppose." Kuja gazed at him miserably, feeling the dye trickling down the side of his face. Neirin wiped it away with a sleeve, then looked at the bottle of dye and frowned.

Kuja looked at the bottle and understood – there wasn't nearly enough dye to cover Neirin's much-longer hair. The prince fingered one of his long locks wistfully, then sighed. "It can't be helped, can it?" he asked, looking at Kuja as if for advice. Kuja wasn't much help; he simply shrugged. Neirin grimaced, reaching for the knife he'd bought. "It will grow back," he said, clearly speaking mostly to himself. "It's only hair, and it will grow back." With that, he took a deep breath, and sawed through his long hair, cutting it as short as possible, just above the ribbon that held it back. The result looked odd (and very uneven), but there was no help for it. Neirin held the severed hair in his hand for a moment, eyeing it regretfully, before setting it aside and dumping what was left of the dye over his head.

It might have been comical if Kuja didn't look just as ridiculous.

"We'll take this path once we're ready to leave," Neirin said as they waited for the dye to set in, pointing toward the mountain path. "I… I can't honestly say I know where it leads, but it's likely better for our sakes if we _don't _know where we're going. With no destination of our own in mind, how can Taharka _guess_ our destination? As I said, if we can find someone else to travel with – just some way to make us something other than _two boys traveling together_ – we'll be much better off. By now I expect everyone who has any loyalty to Taharka knows what we look like." He glanced up at the mess on their heads. "Or… _looked_ like."

When the sun was fully over the horizon, they both dunked their heads into the ice-cold stream, rinsing away the horrible dye. Kuja grumbled as he tried to wash the stuff out of his ears, a problem Neirin didn't seem to share. When they were finished rinsing… well, _Neirin_ looked passably decent; the dye looked to be a reddish-brown, common enough for this region. Kuja on the other hand…

"It's… it _could_ look natural," Neirin said, as they began stripping away their old traveling clothes in exchange for the ones he'd stolen. "It's just a bit splotchy at the top, that's all. And… I suppose I missed that bit there _entirely_…" From what he could gather, Kuja guessed that he had a peculiar patch at the top of his head where the dye hadn't _completely_ set into his white hair, leaving that particular patch several shades lighter than the hair around it. It was, he supposed, the result of trying to dye hair in the dark. Still, it was something that could be fixed eventually. "We'll just have to buy you a hat," Neirin suggested, and Kuja used the opportunity presented by pulling his new shirt over his head, to roll his eyes.

Once they were fully dressed, Neirin set fire to their old clothes, as well as his lost hair, destroying all evidence that they'd ever passed through. And then, when the ashes were as well-hidden as possible, they began their climb up the mountain path. Neirin decided to sing on the way, and for whatever reason, it made Kuja smile.

xxx

"Well, they were obviously _here_," Jalen mused, looking at the flattened-out patches of grass. He looked around. This was a pleasant little valley, he supposed, but most importantly, there were only so many places to go _from_ this valley. There was a little town just ahead, or they could've tried climbing the mountains on either side...

One of his companions was examining the tracks – two sets, of course, the same tracks they'd been following since they'd located the tracks two days earlier. They undeniably belonged to Jalen's quarry: one set belonged to a teenager, the other to a child, and for much of the time, they'd been running. In the rain, no less. Most people would've sought shelter in a downpour like that, but these two had pressed on… and who would have any need to push themselves so hard in foul weather if not a pair of fugitives? Jalen was sure they were the right tracks, and now that they'd reached a decent _funnel_… well, there were only so many options after this.

"Tracks head toward town," his companion said, standing and stretching. "The boy's tracks are odd. Like as not he had bad shoes; mayhap the prince wanted 'em replaced?"

_Well, that narrows it down_. Jalen smiled. "Well, then I guess we'd better head toward town," he said, reaching for the reins of his horse. He didn't usually ride while he was on a manhunt, as it was too easy to miss minute details while on horseback (and god forbid they ever go anywhere on _dragons_), but they'd already lost enough time as it was. It seemed, however, that they were catching up. The prince had perhaps four or five days on them, but there were beasts and monsters in the areas ahead, and the prince wasn't accustomed to traveling or fighting.

Jalen was.

Jalen was, therefore, _faster_.

xxx

The catlike creature gave one last roar before it collapsed onto its side and died. Neirin stood over the corpse for a moment, obviously still shocked by the beast's sudden appearance, before kicking it inelegantly over the side of the mountain. Kuja climbed down from the ledge he'd scrambled to when the beast had appeared. "What… what _was_ that thing?" he asked, surprised by how shrill his voice sounded. They'd walked the path for several hours without incident, when quite suddenly, the creature had emerged from between the rocks and lunged at Neirin. It had been a close thing; if Neirin hadn't hit it with magic at the last minute…

"I suppose you might call it a beast or monster," Neirin replied, smoothing out his clothes. "But it's really just a mountain cat of some kind. We're getting into their territory now, I suppose. We'll have to stay on the lookout." _Their territory,_ Kuja thought, looking around. Their territory was rather snowy, blanketed in several thick inches of white. And _cold_. Fortunately, the new traveling clothes Neirin had _procured_ also included cloaks, which served as a very slight buffer against the whipping, biting wind. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, and even harder to draw breath – Neirin had stopped singing quite a while ago. It was hard to see the path ahead, as well, buried in the snow as it was, but there were path-markers – tall stones carved with symbols to indicate that they were still on the correct path. Even some of _these_ had been blanketed in snow.

They continued climbing, careful to avoid icy patches. Occasionally the path led them to the outside edge of the mountains, and they could see down into the very valley they'd slept in several days ago. Kuja would have pointed this out if he hadn't known there was no way Neirin could possibly hear him over the wind. He gripped the stone wall as much as possible, trying to avoid looking down at all costs. His dragon flights had taught him he had no great love for heights. _Dragons_, he thought, inching along the wall. _Seems like that was an eternity ago…_ Kuja found himself wishing they _had_ dragons now, just so they could fly over these godforsaken mountains altogether.

"Look!" Neirin halted suddenly, pointing. Just ahead, barely visible through the blowing snow… was a _village_.

It took them another two hours to reach the village, but simply _seeing_ it was enough to lift Kuja's spirits. His spirits were immediately crushed again when Neirin led him to a nearby cave and told him to stay there.

"If there are two of us, and Taharka has eyes in the village, all the disguising in the world won't save us," Neirin explained when Kuja protested this decision. "Besides, your hair is… well, you wouldn't fool anyone. I can pass for a lone traveler, but there's no reason why an adventurer would bring an eight-year-old into hostile mountains with him. I won't stay the night," he added, when Kuja continued to seem dissatisfied. "I'll only be a short while. Just long enough to see what I can find in the way of supplies and the like, and possibly information." And with that, he was gone.

Kuja sat sulkily against the cave wall, listening to the wind howl outside. At least the cave offered _some_ shelter from the wind, albeit not as much as the homes in the village would have. He belatedly hoped this cave wasn't home to any of those cat-creatures, but as far as he could tell, it seemed utterly empty.

A pity.

It would've been nice to have something to _do_.

Night fell, and still Neirin failed to return. Kuja sighed, kicking a rock for the thousandth time, watching it skitter back to him after it bounced off the opposite wall. This "game" had lost its novelty fairly quickly, but there was little else to do. Kuja wondered if he ought to give up on waiting and get some sleep. This was _not_ shaping up to be the grand adventure he'd always hoped for.

"The entire _village_." Neirin's voice startled him, and he very nearly jumped out of his skin. The prince appeared at the mouth of the cave and gestured for him to come out. "The entire _village_ follows Taharka's cult! What's more, they _support_ his decision to use _me_ to create Garland!" The prince was furious, that was clear. Kuja scurried out of the cave quickly so as not to provoke Neirin further. "They've all known about it for _years_, they say. They call it a _brilliant idea_. They say Taharka is planning to _speed up_ the end of this cycle as soon as Garland has been created – to purge the world and start fresh. According to _them_, Taharka even has a planet all picked out for the next assimilation. Apparently it's being called 'Gaia,' but it's a newborn planet at best, of course, no civilization-"

"How did you learn all of this?" Kuja asked incredulously, staring at Neirin with wide, startled eyes. An entire village of cultists, and the prince had walked in and out unscathed!

Neirin smirked. "I told them I was a traveler. When I realized they were all cultists, I led them to believe I was interested in following Taharka, myself, but didn't know a great deal about him or the cult in general. They wouldn't _stop_ talking." He let out a short, mocking laugh. "Apparently the cult has set up their 'temple' in _Mount Gulug_, of all places. They claim it's the closest place on Terra to the pathway of souls. And you wouldn't _believe _where they've been conducting all of their experiments." Kuja's eyes widened. He'd never heard of 'Mount Gulug,' nor could he guess where Taharka might conduct his awful experiments, but he could only imagine the sort of places both must be. "Pandemonium," Neirin concluded. "They're conducting their experiments in _Pandemonium_. Of course! It's the one place no one would have ever thought to search, and it's a day's flight from Traje – right under our noses."

Pandemonium. _A relic from a past cycle_, Neirin had called it – remnants of Terra's past. The floating castle; the dead city. Kuja felt the hairs on his neck stand, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

"If the villagers are to be believed, Taharka is trying to find some way to stifle the cycle of souls," Neirin was saying. Kuja forced himself to listen. "They don't know what he has planned on that front, only that he keeps mentioning a tree of some kind. He's also trying to build an airship."

"Airship?" Kuja asked, startled. "But… we _had_ airships once, didn't we? They didn't work."

Neirin nodded. "Apparently Taharka uncovered an ancient battleship in Pandemonium. It doesn't actually _function_, but he claims the technology is sound, and he intends to create a warship using that technology."

"But… there's no war," Kuja pointed out. "Unless…" He trailed off, horrified.

Neirin watched his expression, then smirked again. "You're too smart for your own good. Yes. Taharka intends to _start_ a war. How best to wipe out the remaining life on Terra, ushering in Garland's reign? Once 'Gaia' comes to maturity, how best to throw off the balance of the cycle of souls?"

"War." Kuja looked down at the village. "He's going to bring war to Terra. He's already wiped out several villages… he's overthrown the royal family… he's building warships, probably raising an army…" It was just like in the stories. But this time, Kuja wasn't so certain the ending was going to be a happy one. He looked at Neirin. "What about the village?" He asked, glancing back down at it, then back to Neirin. "Eventually Taharka is going to come here, if they're his followers… and wouldn't _he_ be suspicious if they told him someone of your age came sniffing around for information about him?"

The prince considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, he would." With that, he summoned up a spell, hurling a wave of fire at a nearby mountain. As the avalanche began, sending tons of ice, snow, and rock slamming down the mountain, Neirin pulled Kuja back into the cave. The noise was awful. Kuja covered his ears, hoping to drown it out, but it did nothing to help. When the noise stopped, they carefully emerged from their cave, looking around.

Where the village had stood only moments before, there was now nothing but snow.

"Would you call this an abuse of power?" Neirin asked quietly, his expression somber.

Kuja thought about it, about the millions of people who would die if Taharka managed to strike up his war, about all of the people who had died in the throne room, about what creating _Garland_ actually meant. "No. Not this. This is survival."

And then they began walking down the mountain path again, two tiny specks on a massive mountain; two needles in a haystack the size of Terra itself.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Avalanches_: Perfect for when an entire village is totally okay with you being carved out like a turkey, brainwashed, and stuffed with a magical sphere.


	12. The Predator

**Author's Note:** New chapter omigod yay. I was really surprised (and amused) by the fact that _every single review_ mentioned their hair in some way. It will grow back! I promise! It's hair! And again to answer a question from the reviews: I do not intend to write a sequel of any kind for this fic, because my sequels always suck, and I do not want to ruin this fic. I like this fic. :c  
XitaUnlucky, yeah, there's really no happy ending waiting at the end of this fic. Which shouldn't come as a huge surprise to anyone who's ever read absolutely anything written by me ever; I think I'm incapable of writing happy endings. Pip, I _love_ questions. More people should ask me questions. And no, Neirin really didn't think through his plan very well. We will see that in this chapter. And eterniawolf, I'm glad you liked the author's note – I couldn't think of anything else to say, and well, it was true!  
On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Twelve: The Predator**

It wasn't that Tiamat didn't appreciate his position. In fact, it was unlikely that anyone understood just how _much_ he appreciated the fact that he was a royal guardian – he was one of only four people entrusted with the survival of Terra's only remaining monarchy; one of four people trusted with the most sacred life on the mother continent, if not the entire world. Tiamat had risen from nothing. He had fought his way through life until the day he'd crossed paths with Kraken – though at that time, she was not yet _Kraken_; her name was Travelta. She was the first to show him that there were problems no amount of strength could solve. She was the first to teach him that sometimes, strength could be used for the sake of _protecting _something, not always for the sake of destruction. And it was at her side that he'd been declared _Tiamat_, the prince's guardian, and at last given a purpose for his strength.

So it wasn't that he didn't appreciate his position. It meant the world to him.

No.

It was more that he _wanted to wring Neirin's neck_.

"He must have had some reason," Kraken said, her voice carefully level. Tiamat had no doubt that she was just as furious as he was; she was simply doing better at controlling herself. He had spent the past half-hour since her arrival (and a good part of the two days between Neirin's disappearance and Kraken's arrival) screaming, throwing things, and generally destroying the room. The still-weak girl Kraken had brought with her simply sat in the corner, watching him with wide, terrified eyes. He ignored her as he at last sat heavily on his bed, out of energy at last.

"I don't give a damn about _reasons_," he snapped. "He's putting himself at risk, and he _knows_ it! The bastard _knows_ it! I told him about the cities the damn cultist had razed to the ground, told him about all the people he'd killed, and he _still_ takes off in the middle of the night like some-"

Kraken cut him off. "You said he had the boy with him, right?" She asked, glancing at the girl in the corner, who perked up slightly. "You didn't tell him about Bran Bal, did you?"

Tiamat's stomach twisted and he shook his head. No, he hadn't mentioned Bran Bal – in a rare moment of kindness, he'd thought perhaps the boy should be spared that knowledge. Even an orphan had some attachment to their home: people they knew, places they loved… Tiamat ought to know that much. Kraken nodded. "Good. I didn't get to know the boy very well," she said, with a tinge of regret. "But he seems… well…"

"God-touched?" Tiamat supplied with a wry grin.

"So Lich seemed to think," Kraken agreed, smiling faintly. "He seems strong enough to survive. But he's _from_ Bran Bal, is he not? You don't think he'd try to go back there, do you?" Tiamat shook his head. No, if they were going to go back to Bran Bal, they'd have gone already. And if the child couldn't piece together what must have happened to his hometown, then surely _Neirin_ was smart enough to figure it out and stay away. There was nothing to be found there, anyway – only empty buildings, corpses, and blood on the cobblestones, staining the clear pond. Kraken said she'd visited the ruins of Bran Bal and other cities along the way, searching for survivors. She had found none. According to Kraken, not only had Taharka murdered the citizens and burned the cities to the ground, he had also poisoned the fields, ensuring that no fortunate survivors would _ever_ be able to return to the cities.

And no one would ever be able to help Neirin, either.

Tiamat sighed heavily, resting his head in his hands. "You think he has a plan?" He asked, not looking up. "What plan could he possibly _have_ at this point? The only hope we had was to get him the hell away from this continent and out of Taharka's sight." Kraken was silent. Tiamat looked up at her, feeling desperately helpless. "We need to find him. If we don't, he doesn't stand a chance. He doesn't know what he's doing out there."

"He was trained for this." Kraken's voice was soft, but firm. She met his gaze without flinching, and he saw the strength in her again, just as he had years ago. It comforted him, if only a little. "Neirin was _trained_ for this," Kraken repeated. "He was trained to survive without us. Those were no play-exercises, and you and I both know he never treated them as such. And if what you've said is true, then Kuja is no liability, either. Perhaps…" She frowned, then looked toward Elisi, sitting quietly in the corner. "I hope you're up for a bit more exploring, girl," she said, and the girl hesitated a moment, then nodded. The determination Kraken had become quite fond of burned in Elisi's eyes – _she_ was no liability, either. Kraken smiled, then turned her attention back to Tiamat.

"We have to find Maliris and Lich. And _then_ we can decide what to do about Neirin. He can survive long enough for that."

xxx

Jalen hadn't bothered to spend a great deal of time in the small town; he'd immediately begun looking for fresh tracks _out_ of the town – and he found them. After that, he and his men had simply pressed on, unwilling to draw the attention of the locals. The trail had been difficult to follow after that; Jalen had very nearly lost it in the forest, devoid of underbrush as the forest floor was. Still, he'd followed it. It was always easy to follow a trail made in haste, and for whatever reason, Neirin and his little friend had wanted to get away from that village in a hurry.

It was almost enough to make him wonder what they'd been running from.

They emerged on the other side of the forest, at the foot of a mountain path. Jalen looked around curiously. There were ashes lying on the ground. "Think they set up camp here?" he asked one of his men, who specialized in ashes and dust. The man knelt, fingering the powdery ash, then shook his head.

"There's no wood here," the man replied. "They burned something else. Looks like cloth, maybe." _Cloth_? Jalen frowned. That made no sense; what cloth would they have been burning? Unless…

_Yes, that makes sense_. "New clothes," he said simply. "They must've gotten new clothes. Poorer clothes, if they were smart about it." He did some more looking around. If they changed their clothes, chances were good they were making some attempt to disguise themselves.

"Jalen," the man at the ashes called, and the blond man turned to look at his companion, curious. The man was holding out what looked to be a long, silvery strand of hair. "Looks like clothing wasn't the only thing they burned. Looks like the prince cut his hair." Jalen smiled. Yes. That would be a useful trick, wouldn't it? Long hair tended to be something of a status symbol; no one would think to find the _prince_ with short hair. Perhaps Neirin was cleverer than Taharka gave him credit for. The cultist seemed to think the prince was a naïve, foolish boy, but nothing Jalen had seen suggested as much. Indeed, everything he'd seen suggested that Neirin wanted to live, and was willing to do anything it took to do so.

The mercenary-turned-bounty-hunter looked up at the mountains towering overhead. _Would you have gone into the mountains, I wonder_? Even as he wondered it, he knew the answer. Of course he had. Where else was safe? But he had to come down eventually.

One of his other men stepped up beside him, frowning at the silvery peaks overhead. "We goin' up there?" The man asked, obviously anxious, and for good reason. Even as they watched, an avalanche somewhere in the distance echoed across the valley.

_You have to come down eventually_. "No," Jalen said, thoughtfully. "I think we'll go around. It's faster, it's safer, and we might even catch him off guard… if we can guess where he's headed."

xxx

They spent a week in the mountains, trudging through snow that was, occasionally, almost as high as Kuja was tall. They learned to keep their backs to the wind whenever possible, and take shelter when the wind and snow blew their hardest. It turned out that Kuja was very skilled at finding caves and caverns, so they never had to spend the night out in the cold… though occasionally they had to chase away some of the thick-furred mountain cats. Neirin lamented the fact that neither of them knew much about skinning – the coats of those cats would have served them well against the cold. Normally the thought would have horrified the boy, but Kuja was prepared to accept almost anything when he was so cold that _frost_ was forming on his splotchy, ill-colored hair.

The descent was so gradual that, at first, Kuja failed to notice they were leaving the snow behind. The patches of ice that they'd gotten so used to stepping carefully over faded into slushy puddles. The snow was shallower; the drop-offs less drastic. The sun came through the clouds overhead at last, and Neirin pulled down the hood of his cloak in order to turn his face up toward it. Kuja did the same. The warmth was more than welcome. The harsh wind was now a pleasant breeze, although a chilly one, so they kept their hoods down as they continued their descent down the mountain path. There was little to fear in the way of recognition; since the incident at the now-buried village, they'd seen no other people. There had been other villages, seen only at a glance, and occasionally they'd passed hunting traps, but they hadn't troubled to visit, and no one had crossed their path.

"Where will we go next?" Kuja asked, scrambling down a rock wall after Neirin. Neirin was a surprisingly good climber; he moved easily from handhold to foothold, glancing down only occasionally. Kuja was decidedly less efficient. He paused frequently, and was paralyzed by fear every time he looked down… but managed to push himself forward, for of course he couldn't hold Neirin back; he'd promised.

Neirin looked up at him. "I was thinking we'd head to the next large city we can find," he called up (for Kuja was quite a ways above him). "And try to find a group of travelers to attach ourselves to. And fix your hair," he added, grinning, though Kuja couldn't see it. And even though Neirin couldn't see it, Kuja rolled his eyes. He hadn't _seen_ his botched hair yet, but he was getting a bit tired of having it _mentioned_. Neirin had been positively merciless over the past week. Despite his irritation, the boy bit his tongue – it kept Neirin in high spirits, and that was certainly better than the alternative.

At last – at _last_ – his feet touched the ground, long after Neirin had finished his descent. His hands were red and raw, with blisters blossoming from his soft palms. To be fair, Neirin didn't seem to be in much better condition – the prince picked irritably at his own blisters, muttering something about how he wished they'd had gloves. It was, Kuja thought, a bit late to be wanting things _now_.

It was so nice to see grass again, and to be walking on flat earth. Neirin informed him that they were still technically walking downhill, but after the mountains, Kuja couldn't tell, and didn't care. In fact, he ran ahead quite a ways, stirring up insects and birds from their hiding places in the tall grass, laughing merrily as he went. It was good to feel _alive_ again – a week spent in the mountains had left him wondering if he'd ever have the chance to run free like this again. Neirin watched him run, laughing; they had little to fear out here, a good day's walk from the nearest city. Neirin himself simply took off his cloak and stretched his arms overhead to let the sun's warmth envelop him. God, but it felt good to be free of the mountains at last.

But not quite good enough to let him forget the danger ahead and behind.

"Don't stray too far," he called, watching Kuja scamper through the grass, which nearly reached the boy's waist. There was no road through this meadow, but wherever he ran, Kuja left a "road" of his own, pressing down the blades of blue-grey grass. Neirin shook his head. It was a good thing no one was likely to have followed them over the mountains; there was no _way_ they could pretend the grass-trails had come from some animal. Still, it was good to see Kuja laugh again. Neirin had, however vaguely, begun to worry about the effect this journey was having on the boy. There was no safe way to backtrack to Bran Bal now, and anyway, Neirin suspected there was no Bran Bal _to_ backtrack to, if what Tiamat said was true.

Part of him wanted to tell Kuja as much, but he thought better of it. If the emotional strain on the boy hadn't yet begun to show, it _would_ if he knew his hometown had likely been destroyed. Of course, knowing Kuja, the boy was probably bright enough to suspect as much already. Neirin smiled wistfully, watching as Kuja simply took it upon himself to stretch out in the sun, doubtlessly enjoying the warmth, himself. _I wish you weren't so damnably clever_, the prince thought, shaking his head. _I'm starting to get jealous_. It was true. For every step he took, it seemed as if the boy was already thinking of taking it, if not already the full step ahead. For nearly all his life, Neirin had been told he was intelligent and clever, and he'd believed it… but he was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was being put in his place by an eight-year-old child.

Still, it was hard not to like Kuja. Though the boy was no longer quite as talkative and inquisitive as he'd once been, his curiosity had not been dulled, and during the week they'd spent in the mountains, Neirin constantly found himself explaining things – magic, mostly, but also history, mythology, and various theories surrounding Terra's absorption of other planets. Most of the information he was able to give, he could only credit to Lich, though some of it he knew from his own studies. The more questions Kuja asked, the more Neirin realized he didn't know. He'd never cared much for history; he'd ignored most of his own studies… but it seemed to _fascinate _Kuja.

As useless as it seemed, Neirin reminded himself to see about gathering up some books while they were in the city. Kuja would enjoy the new information they'd hold, and Neirin…

…Neirin needed to learn more magic.

He knew that now. Regardless of Taharka's magic-stifling stone, magic was still his greatest defense, and not _everything_ could be managed with a well-aimed blast of fire. Neirin needed to learn how to control his power more thoroughly and effectively; Taharka had only one stone, as far as he knew, and the _rest_ of his men didn't enjoy the same protection against magic. Besides, perhaps there was some way to get around the stone's power. If Taharka had found the way to _create _the stone, surely there was a way to either _destroy_ it… or defy it.

It came as absolutely no surprise to him that when at last he reached Kuja, the boy was fast asleep. Neither of them had slept well during the past week, and Kuja least of all – the boy still seemed to harbor some fear that Neirin was likely to leave him in the middle of the night. It wasn't as if the prince hadn't considered it, either, though not for quite some time – the last time had been the night after Belapest, when the two of them had sat in the rain, spattered with blood, and it had finally occurred to Neirin just how dangerous this was going to be. He'd thought hard about it that night: about how much safer it would be to simply go the long way 'round back to Bran Bal, and leave the boy there regardless of his protests.

After hearing what had likely become of Bran Bal, the prince found himself strangely grateful that he _hadn't_ sent the boy back. It would have been a sorry way to repay Kuja for saving his life.

"Come along, we have to get going," Neirin said, shaking the boy awake. Kuja grumbled and yawned, sitting up. He looked around, obviously disoriented, before getting reluctantly to his feet. "I hope you had a pleasant nap," Neirin added, and laughed when Kuja responded with a dirty look. The boy never complained, to be fair, but he had an _attitude_.

"I was dreaming," Kuja yawned again, stretching. "I dreamed we were back in the mountains, but it was warmer." It had been a nice dream, though not surprising; they'd been in the mountains for what seemed like forever. It was only natural that those damn mountains would make their appearance in his _dreams_, as well. He wished he could've slept longer, though – mountains be damned, he was _tired_, and he wasn't likely to get any decent amount of sleep between now and the next leg of their destination, either. "What city are we headed to?"

Neirin looked skyward, as if trying to call up a map in his mind. "If I'm right.. the closest town is probably Astrula."

xxx

Neirin was right, of course. And he looked smug about it as they walked into town, too. Kuja kept his hood up, despite the heat – his splotchy hair was too abnormal to go unnoticed. Astrula was a large city – not as twisted as Belapest, though, that much was obvious. A few people gave them cursory glances, but none of those glances lingered for long. It likely helped a great deal that neither of them looked as if they were anything particularly special, unlike their appearance in Belapest; Neirin no longer _looked _like a young, attractive, wealthy young man. And Kuja… well, Kuja was just a child, and not a very interesting one, at that. A few people might have troubled to wonder why he bothered keeping his hood up, but no one actually _asked_, which was good enough.

The first thing Neirin did was restock their supplies. The mountains had left them dangerously low on food, and they'd long since run out of water (though snowmelt had lasted them well enough). And then, because it was a necessity, he bought another bottle of dye – a darker color this time, which only served to make Kuja _less_ eager to try it.

And then, for the sake of vanity, they spent the night at an inn. And they bathed. It was wonderful to have a warm bath again, and Kuja stayed in the water until it went cold, scrubbing away the dirt of their journey. They'd bathed once in a hot spring in the mountains, but the water had been surprisingly dirty, and Kuja had come away from it feeling less clean than he'd felt before going in. Neirin couldn't lecture him on it, though – he stayed in the water easily twice as long, even calling for the tub to be re-filled once. In the meantime, Kuja slept, enjoying the fact that Neirin had, out of generosity or habit, gotten them a room with two beds. As far as Kuja was concerned, they could stay in Astrula forever.

xxx

"Two, you say? Two boys?" Jalen leaned forward, folding his hands over the back of the chair he was currently sitting in backwards. "You're _sure_ you saw them?" He'd been waiting in Astrula for quite some time now, hoping for some sort of information… but an outright _sighting_!

The man across from him – ugly fellow, missing an eye – nodded. "They wasn't silver-haired, no, but they match the description in ev'ry other way. One's round 'bout sixteen, other's just a boy; dressed like peasants. The boy had a hood. I s'pect the hair's been dyed on 'em both, and mayhap the boy's went awry." The man's good eye flashed. "It's information, lad, and you promised payment for it."

Jalen nodded, then gestured to one of his men, who handed over a bag of money. Jalen had no idea how much was in it; it was the man's own purse; he knew he'd be compensated.

The mercenary stood. "And just where did you say you saw these two?"

The man had already started counting his payment. "Inn on the far side of town. Can't miss it. 'Less you're blind," he added, then laughed. Jalen grabbed his weapon – a swallow; a sword with a blade on either end of the hilt – and set out.

_Finally_, he thought, smiling. _I hope you have my money ready, Taharka, you old bastard_.

xxx

"You know we have to leave eventually," Kuja said, watching as Neirin leafed through yet another book. They'd been in Astrula for nearly a week, and while it had been a vastly more enjoyable week than the one they'd spent in the mountains, Kuja was beginning to feel the press of time. Neirin, on the other hand, seemed content to stay. He'd found several books on magic, and had spent the week reading them from cover to cover, pausing only occasionally to test out some new spell or trick. Already they'd accumulated something of an outrageous charge for damages to the building – obviously Neirin had no full control over what he was doing, and was much more powerful than he'd ever expected. The prince had blasted a hole through one wall with lightning, and had at one point flooded the bathroom using a water spell.

Neirin glanced up. "Eventually," he agreed. "But eventually could be any day. We're in no hurry as long as we aren't recognized. We're a pair of actors, aren't we? As long as no one sees through the costumes and we play the parts precisely, we won't be found." After a moment, he added, "You aren't reading."

It wasn't that Kuja didn't _like_ the books Neirin had found for him – he liked them all very much, and for the first day after they'd been given to him, he'd read them compulsively, unable to put them down. They were history books, for the most part, and though he couldn't read especially well, he'd scoured them, pausing occasionally to ask Neirin what a word was; what a word meant. No, it was just that he felt time passing, and he felt whatever advantage they'd gained by crossing the mountains slipping away as each day passed.

"I just worry that-"

He never got the chance to say it. The door to their room exploded open, and several armed men rushed in before either of them had the time to react. Neirin recovered first, and before the first man could reach them, a burst of lightning cut through the crowd, leaving four of the men dead. Kuja gagged on the smell, but managed to scramble behind Neirin, hoping for some kind of protection. The fifth and final man appeared unharmed, having jumped swiftly out of the way. The man looked at the four corpses with a look of utter despair, then back to the two of them for a moment, warily waiting for another spell… but none came. Neirin had used the last of his power; the spell had been an impulsive, uncontrolled thing, and it had used everything he currently had.

"I see." The stranger said, smiling predatorily. "All out of magic, huh? I really… wish you hadn't killed my men. It's gonna be hard work hauling you back to old Taharka by myself."

Neirin froze. "So you _were_ sent by Taharka."

"Of course!" The blond man shrugged. "Nothing personal, of course. Or… it _wasn't_ personal, until about five seconds ago. I'm Jalen. Maybe you've heard of me? …No? I'm just a mercenary, and this is – _was_ – my band. My friends, actually. They were like brothers to me." He held up the weapon he held, an odd double-ended sword, and his expression darkened. "You'll pay for that. Taharka wants you alive, but you'd be surprised what a man can live through."

Kuja wasn't interested in learning about it. He grabbed the nearest of the heavy magic books – the only one he could lift, anyway – and bounded onto the bed. Before Jalen could react – he was still too focused on Neirin, the only one he perceived as a threat – Kuja slammed the spine of the book into the mercenary's face, sending the man reeling, clutching his likely-broken nose.

And then Neirin sprung into action, grabbing Kuja's hand and leaping out of the window. It was reckless, it was foolish, but it was the only way they were likely to get out of the room alive. Luckily, they were fortunate enough to land on top of the inn's stable, only a short distance below, and from there, it was another short leap to the ground. The question was where to go _after_ that, as Jalen had already recovered, and was following them through the window.

"The temple," Neirin said hurriedly, dragging him down the nearest street. "It's the only place that might be safe."

Kuja had no idea how a temple might offer them safety. However, it was the only hope they currently had.

The temple of the All-Seeing Eye was immense, carved in the shape of an eye. It gleamed white in the sunlight, and its reflection made it an easy place to run toward; there was no mistaking exactly what it was, or the power the people within held. Neirin ran up the temple steps, all but tripping Kuja in the process, and darted inside just as Jalen began to ascend the stairs below.

"Sanctuary," Neirin gasped, breathless, reaching for the nearest priest. Despite his advanced age, the priest caught the stumbling prince in his arms, holding Neirin close, nodding.

"You've found it." The man's voice was calm and reassuring, and Neirin felt his knees give out from the relief and the priest let him sink, slowly, to his knees to rest, just as the mercenary emerged at the top of the stairs. The priest stepped forward, hands folded. "It is forbidden to bring a weapon into the house of He-Who-Sees-All," he said quietly. "Or do you mean to offend?"

Surprisingly, Jalen hesitated. Then, slowly, he drew himself up. "I don't mean to offend anyone. I came for _them_," he said, pointing toward Neirin and Kuja, who sat exhausted on the cool polished stone floor. "Just hand them over to me, and I'll leave and take my offensive weapon with me."

Kuja's heart pounded, and he grabbed Neirin's arm. Was this it? Was this the end? They'd come so _far_, they were doing so _well_… He squeezed the prince's arm hard enough to hurt, but Neirin didn't seem to feel it. The prince was staring up at the priest in resigned anticipation; either they were going to die here, or they were going to live. It rested in the priest's – and the All-Seeing Eye's – hands now.

The priest shook his head.

Kuja felt his heart skip a beat.

"They have claimed sanctuary, and I cannot betray it. Nor can you. It is a covenant between them and He-Who-Sees-All – betray it, and you will suffer the consequences." The priest lifted a hand, and power sparked there, though no spell manifested. Other priests nearby did the same, though it was doubtful they understood the circumstances. "Leave now."

Jalen glanced between the priest and the prince, scowling. And then, slowly, his scowl faded away. "You have to leave eventually," he said, shrugging. "And I'm in no hurry. This town's full of brothels, taverns, opponents to battle and new partners to be made. In the meantime, I'll be entertained – will you?" With that, he turned around and stalked out, whistling merrily as he went. It wasn't until his whistle faded from their hearing that the priest finally lowered his hand, and the others did the same.

The priest turned to face the two fugitives at last, bowing. "My apologies. I am High Priest Zenabri," he introduced himself. "Be welcome. You have found a safe haven here."

Neirin broke at last, wrapping his arms around Kuja and holding him close as he sobbed into the boy's hair. Kuja clung to him, burying his face against the prince's neck, feeling the pulse against his cheek. A pulse to remind him that, for the moment, Neirin was still alive.

Alive… but trapped.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Just a heads-up, the next chapter takes place a full _two years_ after this one. And yes, that was an extra-long chapter. Just for you guys!


	13. To Keep Him Safe

"_Hello. My name is Jalen. You killed my friends. Prepare to die."  
"Or not HEREHAVEABOOKTOTHEFACE."  
- all anyone will ever remember from chapter twelve._

**Author's Note:** Unlucky number thirteen! Cross no black cats while reading this chapter, and you probably shouldn't walk under ladders, either, or break any mirrors. I refuse to accept any responsibility for any bad luck gained while reading this chapter.

To answer this week's review-question, um… the answer was really kind of long-winded, and most of it can be answered in this chapter anyway. Any remaining questions may be asked in the reviews.  
XitaUnlucky (you should probably watch out for this chapter. "Unlucky" is right there in your name!), yeah, it really wouldn't make any sense for this to have a happy ending. I mean, one way or another, we know that at the very least, _Garland exists and that probably means something very bad happened to one of the characters in this story_. And it only gets better from there. Clement Rage, I hope I answered your questions well enough – and if not, please feel free to ask more! I really do enjoy answering questions. Eterniawolf, yeah, Kuja's entire existence at this point relies on the fact that pretty much everyone underestimates or fails to notice him. He'll take a step up. Eventually. Aaaand Pip, I adore questions. Keep them coming, and I'll keep answering! Unless they're spoilery, in which case, I won't answer. But I'll still enjoy the question!

And dammit, I promised myself I wouldn't write any more of these absurdly long ANs. Chapter now!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Thirteen: To Keep Him Safe**

TWO YEARS LATER

The first month was the hardest. Each day Kuja sat in the temple's broad main hall, watching the world outside with anxious terror. Every once in a great while, Jalen would pass by the entrance and glance within, presumably to ensure that the two of them remained within their cage. Neirin had the good sense to never be present in the main hall, but Kuja couldn't help himself; if Jalen intended to report back to Taharka and bring the full wrath of the cult down upon their heads, _he_ wanted to know about it. He found he couldn't sleep at night, and when he did, his sleep was fitful and plagued by nightmares. He woke in the night at every sound – footsteps, voices, the wind whistling through cracks in the stone walls. The boy scarcely ate, and the few meals he _did_ accept, he took in the main hall, staring out at the busy streets of Astrula. The cultists would come, he knew. It was all a matter of _when_.

But the first month passed, and no cultists came.

The second month passed, as well. As did the second _year_.

Kuja found he adjusted surprisingly well to being trapped in this marble cage. The temple was more than a house of worship; it was a place of learning – there was an expansive library, and of course he was granted access to it. Most of the books were of a religious nature, naturally, but hidden among the holy books were _history _books, and – surprisingly – books on myths and legends. The priests came to call Kuja "the little scholar," and they gladly found still more books for him as he burned through the library's supply. His own books (as well as their other belongings) had been fetched from their ruined room at the inn, including the one with which he had smashed Jalen's face. He'd read them all, of course, including Neirin's magic books, though he had a special place in his heart for the heaviest: there was still a bit of Jalen's blood to be found on the spine.

Jalen, however, had become something of an enigma. The mercenary attended the worship services held at the temple on a regular basis, and for the longest time, he had done so without troubling the two of them. Kuja had assumed he was trying to learn more about the layout of the temple, perhaps, attempting to learn where Neirin spent most of his time, or how best to infiltrate the temple without alerting the priests. But two years had passed, and the closest Jalen came to so much as _contacting _Neirin was at the pageants.

The temple was fairly proud of its monthly pageants, performances put on largely for the children of Astrula. The intent, presumably, was to tell stories about the greatness of the All-Seeing Eye. The reality, however, was that the pageants were simply an elaborate way for the temple and its priests and priestesses to show off, casting aside humility for the duration of one show. And the city simply adored it. As it turned out, so did Neirin.

By the third month of their stay, the prince had already decided he wanted to be a part of the theatrics. Try as they might, the priests could not persuade him otherwise – and after Neirin's first show-stealing performance (a minor part only, of course; he played a townsperson whose only real line came while he was _dying_), they were indisposed to deny him a second role. They cast him then as the brother of a man who spoke to He-Who-Sees-All in his dreams. Once again, Neirin simply stole the show out of the hands of the rather mild-mannered priest playing the lead, and small wonder; he was a born actor. Kuja had feared, early on, that someone in the audience might recognize the prince, but through the stage makeup and bizarre mannerisms, _he_ could scarcely recognize the young man he'd been traveling with for so long.

For his third performance, Neirin played the avatar of the All-Seeing Eye. By this time, naturally, his silvery hair was nicely grown out and the dull brown had been cut away, leaving him with an almost ethereal paleness among the dark-haired, tan-skinned priests. And oh, could he act the part! Kuja was torn between laughing at the deathly seriousness with which Neirin delivered most of his more ridiculous lines (the All-Seeing Eye's avatar, for whatever reason, spoke largely in verse), and being in awe over how _convincing_ the prince could be while playing Terra's highest power.

And after the third show, Jalen approached Neirin for the first time. Kuja knew little of their conversation – he knew only that _after_ that, Jalen visited the temple more frequently. Kuja often saw the mercenary and Neirin deep in conversation, frowning and whispering back and forth.

These conversations typically ended with Jalen storming off in a rage, and Kuja was left terrified that the man was going to ride off that very night to bring Taharka and the cult to destroy not only the temple, but Astrula as well.

They never came.

"Why doesn't he just bring Taharka _here_?" Kuja wondered aloud, peering at Neirin over one of his books. "Or send a messenger, if he's afraid to leave us unattended? The priests would hardly pose a threat against that… that _stone_ of Taharka's, after all…" He closed his book ("_The Unexplored Worlds: Terra's Outer Continents_") and set it aside, unable to concentrate. "He's plotting something, isn't he?" His green eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Neirin arched an eyebrow, amused. That did little to soothe Kuja's suspicion. "He _is_! And you _know_ about it!"

Neirin waved it off. "I don't know why he hasn't reported us to Taharka, but then, I don't know why Taharka hasn't come here himself yet, either." The prince closed his own book – he'd been invested heavily in his magic studies for the past two years – and sighed. "Jalen has been giving me… news. Troubling news." He frowned. "Taharka has left much of the north in ruin, as well as most of the east. Parts of the south have been reported to be under attack now, too." Kuja didn't want to ask about Bran Bal. "Half of Belapest was destroyed a month ago, and the horrifying part is… Taharka seems to be less concerned about covering his tracks than he was before." The prince stood, setting his book aside in favor of pacing. "He's not ashamed of himself. Most of those who would challenge him were killed in the north – my potential allies. He was killing messengers before, but recently… Belapest, Varandel, and Lisre have fallen, and no attempts were made to conceal their destruction."

"But those are major cities," Kuja protested. "He can't just get away with that, can he?" Varandel was one of the mother continent's largest cities, nestled in the heart of the southern region. And Lisre… "Lisre is only a few days north of here," he said, eyes widening. "He's… he's not coming this way, is he?"

The prince shook his head. "If he is, he's being slow about it. Lisre was destroyed almost six months ago. The truly alarming fact in all of this is that a large portion of Lisre's population was dedicated to his cult. Jalen can't seem to tell me," he added wryly, "whether or not that portion managed to evacuate. But what troubles me is that Lisre wasn't exceptionally loyal to the crown. It had no ties to the royal family, it housed no allies… it was only a city. The same can be said for Varandel. The most that can be said for either city is that they have a large population, but what difference should _that_ make? Unless he's already trying to wipe out Terra's population." Neirin sighed, sitting back down heavily. "What I don't understand is _why_."

"He can't find you," Kuja pointed out, realizing. "He can't just sit idle while he waits for you to crawl out of the woodwork, can he? So he has to do _something_, so… he's starting on the next stage of his plan now."

A painful silence settled between them, something that had become a familiar occurrence over the past two years. Kuja drummed his fingers idly on the cover of his book, waiting for Neirin to come to the obvious conclusion. Again. Perhaps this time the conclusion would stick. They'd discussed it several times, but Neirin's opinions were ever-fluctuating, and oftentimes he had difficulty deciding on the best strategic move. A misstep here could be fatal, and while Neirin was hardly the type to flinch from risks, two years had made him wiser.

"He _will_ reach Astrula eventually," the prince said quietly, tapping his lower lip with an index finger. "And when he does, it won't matter if we're here or not; he'll level the city."

Kuja nodded slowly. He wasn't foolish enough to assume Taharka would care one way or another about destroying a temple. Indeed, it was likely that Taharka wouldn't care at all until he realized he'd managed to kill Neirin in the process.

"We can't stay here." Neirin's voice was firm and final, but Kuja had heard it before; _this_ was the conclusion they'd managed to reach over and over again, only for the prince to change his mind. The reason _behind_ the change of heart was always the same: Jalen. The mercenary was an enormous problem. While within the temple, they were safe. Outside… Kuja found himself wondering why Neirin seemed to neglect the obvious change that had occurred between their initial arrival at the temple and _now_: during that time, the prince had learned a great deal more about magic, and with the help of the priests, he had learned greater control over it. Jalen was one foe. And for the life of him, Kuja couldn't think of any reason why Neirin ought to be _afraid_ of facing the likes of Jalen when he'd already killed four other men, and it was only luck that had saved the mercenary in the first place.

Suddenly, the prince rose. "I need to speak to Jalen. I'll be back soon enough." And with that, he left.

Kuja stared after him.

_That_ was new.

xxx

"Finally leaving the cage, eh?" Jalen grinned, leaning against the wall. "Good. I was getting a bit bored." Two years had done little to change the mercenary, beyond the fact that he looked a great deal less dangerous – the women of Astrula had taken a liking to him, and their softening influence was obvious. Where before Jalen had seemed predatory and deadly, he now appeared to be little more than a rogue, and not a very good one at that. Still, there was danger there, and Neirin wasn't foolish enough to pretend otherwise.

He nodded cautiously. "We intend to leave as soon as possible. I expect your… loyalties haven't changed?"

"Do I still serve Taharka, you mean?" Jalen's blue-green eyes locked on Neirin's. "That depends. A lot's changed in two years, you know. I haven't contacted the old bastard in those two years, so for all he knows, I'm dead. Chances are he's heard about mercenaries turning up dead in Astrula. Maybe he thinks I was with them. Maybe not."

Neirin dared to hope. "So… you could be persuaded to… serve a different employer, should a respectable offer come along," he suggested. The mercenary's nod was nearly indiscernible. The prince's heart pounded in his throat, yet he struggled to appear calm. It wouldn't do to appear desperate. He _wasn't_ desperate. He could kill this man in a heartbeat – _less_ than a heartbeat.

But he'd been careful. Since the day Jalen had approached him after the pageant, intending only to inform him of the death of one of his family's greatest allies, Neirin had been cultivating something of a… not _friendship_, no; he wasn't enough of an idiot to befriend someone whose loyalty could be bought, but… something of a similar nature. As far as he could tell, he had coaxed a budding respect from the man. And he'd been sure to make it very clear that he had become very proficient with the magic that had killed Jalen's companions, and that he wasn't likely to make the same mistake twice. The fact that the mercenary hadn't yet reported back to Taharka suggested that either he didn't know enough to send a messenger…

…or he was waiting for a better offer than the one Taharka had set before him.

"Few people can offer a better price than a prince." There. The offer was made. _Accept it,_ Neirin thought furiously, tough his expression remained placid. He and Kuja could survive without Jalen's help. They'd made it this far. But should they come up against Taharka again… Neirin knew he wasn't good enough with the dagger to make much of a difference, and resourceful as Kuja was, Taharka wasn't likely to overlook or underestimate the boy _twice_. They needed someone who was proficient with a weapon, and Jalen was the obvious choice.

Jalen nodded, shrugging. "True enough. But you're a prince in exile," he pointed out. "You hardly have access to untold riches."

"I won't be in exile _forever_," Neirin said flatly, struggling not to beg. He _would not _be reduced to begging. Either Jalen accepted the offer, or… no. There was no _or_. He _would _accept the offer. He had to.

"And how do you know that?" The mercenary asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're awfully confident, aren't you? It seems to me Taharka's wiping out every possible route you can take. You're homeless. Your only companion is a ten-year-old boy. Your citizens are dying by the dozen. What makes you so _sure_ you won't be in exile until the day you die, Neirin? Playing a god in a play doesn't make you one in reality. You _are_ aware of this?"

Neirin felt his face grow warm, but he tried to ignore it. _Focus_! "That ten-year-old boy managed to outsmart _you_ when he was _eight_," he pointed out. "And why shouldn't life be like a play? A prince in exile, fleeing for his life… only to outsmart the villain in the end, reclaiming his throne and reviving his kingdom?" He gave a dramatic bow, just for the sake of effect. It made Jalen laugh; that was a decent sign. "And when I do, wouldn't you rather be on the winning side? A prince can be a powerful employer."

"I can think of a more powerful one," Jalen said, forcing his laughter aside. "And I'm surprised you haven't. Aren't you of age to be properly crowned?" The man turned his palms up. "A man would be pretty foolish not to consider an offer of employment from a _king_, wouldn't you say?"

The prince took a step back, surprised. The lapse in his guard made the mercenary grin, which only served to infuriate him. "So… if I'm named _king_, then…" He managed, struggling to regain his lost composure.

"You're learning." Jalen nodded. "Power is a pretty strong influence, you know. I won't rush you to take on kingship if you're not ready for it, but you'd be surprised how influential it might be in the days to come. I _do_, however, have one question for you." All traces of mirth vanished from the man's face. "I've managed to persuade myself that the only reason you murdered my friends was for your own safety. I have to wonder, though, now that you've come to know me a bit better… if you had it to do it again…?"

Neirin spoke without hesitation.

"If I had it to do over again," he said simply. "I wouldn't have missed _you_."

There was a moment of tense silence, and Neirin wondered if he'd misspoken. _If I've lost it now_, he thought miserably, _I'll cut out my own thrice-damned tongue_.

And then Jalen laughed. "You're something else," he muttered, shaking his head. "You know, I think I could learn to like you. Alright. I'll help you out… if you're willing to be named king. Because it'll take a nice prize at the end to make it all worth betraying a previous employer," he added. "But we can negotiate the price when the time comes and your ass is on the throne where it belongs. 'Til then… 'til then we'll just concentrate on keeping you alive long enough to get there."

xxx

He thought about it for several days following the discussion with Jalen, but in the end, he supposed he knew what the best decision was. After all, the only thing holding him back was the desire for a proper _ceremony, _and he wasn't likely to get one of _those_. Besides, the only people who might have been interested in participating – his mother, his guardians – were beyond his reach. Still… it was one of the things he'd held onto despite their desperate predicament: the assumption that one day, he would have a proper coronation ceremony before the eyes of the realm, as it was supposed to be. Of course, he'd also assumed that when it came _time_ for his coronation, this mess would be over.

So much for his expectations.

Neirin knelt in the chapel late into the night, in the middle of the magic circle the priests used for their rituals. Supposedly the power of He-Who-Sees-All was greatest there. "I need guidance," he said softly, looking upward. "I need… some sort of _sign_." He didn't know why he bothered, though; he knew in the end he had no real choice. The damn mercenary was right; if he wanted to have any _real _influence in the days to come, he would need to be king. Though what difference it would make in the end… _that_ he wasn't sure of.

"You are troubled." As usual, the High Priest's entrance was nearly silent. It was difficult to say how long the old man had been standing there or how much he'd seen, yet Neirin was relatively unconcerned. It was difficult to be self-conscious around the man who had, with only a few words, saved his life. Zenabri had long since seen him at his worst; there was no point in keeping up appearances. The man stepped into the magic circle, and it was illuminated – the circle responded willingly to the presence of its keeper.

Sitting in the blue-lit circle, Neirin looked up at the High Priest; if _anyone _could address his concerns – as the All-Seeing Eye seemed disinterested – it was likely to be Zenabri.

"Jalen suggested I ought to be crowned king," he said, then looked away. "It's for the best. That much I know."

Zenabri nodded, understanding, of course. There was little he didn't understand, it seemed. "Seldom is a king happily crowned in exile." Neirin didn't respond. He didn't have to. "Think, too, of the source of this suggestion. Could Jalen not expect a higher price for turning in a _king_? And yet you trust him. Why?"

"I have to." The answer was simple, but it seemed unsatisfactory. It was the only answer he had. "I don't… _trust _him, necessarily, but without him I stand no chance against Taharka. My best defense is _Kuja_." He laughed bitterly. "He's saved my life _twice_, you know. I can't ask it a third time."

"You wish to keep him safe." Zenabri's expression softened. "I wouldn't have expected it from you, Your Highness. Your own survival has always seemed first and foremost in your mind. Is this not so?"

Neirin rose, teetering slightly on legs that had gone numb from the kneeling. "My selfishness and narcissism know no bounds," he said wryly. "I wish to keep Kuja safe because he has helped me, and because he may help me again in the future. Tiamat, my guardian, once called him my _guard dog_. And what sort of master would I be if I allowed my guard dog to _die _in my place? No," he said, shaking his head. "I can't allow him to come to harm because of _me_. He's a child." He shrugged. "Jalen is not. And I owe nothing to Jalen. I owe Kuja my life twice over."

"What would you be willing to do to keep him safe?"

The question was asked gently, but it sent a shiver down Neirin's spine. He was a prince. He wasn't supposed to be the one making sacrifices for the sake of someone else's survival; people were meant to make sacrifices for _him_. And he wasn't entirely certain he _wanted_ to give up the possibility of a proper coronation for the sake of an orphan he had only met by chance. _My selfishness and narcissism know no bounds_, he thought miserably, then sighed.

"I…" He swallowed, his youthful fantasies evaporating before his eyes. "I will become king," he said simply, though his voice caught. "Will you perform the rites?"

Zenabri nodded. "Of course. At dawn, if it suits you."

Neirin bowed, then walked slowly out of the magic circle, feeling its presence leave him. _A king at dawn_, he thought, numb. _What would you do to keep him safe, indeed_. He only hoped Jalen was genuine, and that doing this _would_ serve to keep his god-touched guard dog safe.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh hey, Neirin actually has a heart! And no, we never did get back to Kuja, so... more Kuja in the next chapter, I suppose (except that it will probably be Neirin-centric again due to the subject; I, uh, hope you all like him).


	14. The Crownless King

**Author's Note:** This actually ended up being more Jalen-centric than anything. …I don't even know anymore.  
Pip, I certainly _hope _the ending will be good – I certainly can't wait to write it, in any case. The ending was what inspired the entire fic, so with any luck, I'll write it as well as I've fantasized about it. StoryTagger, welcome aboard! You're really on the right track when it comes to not trusting _anything_ in this story, but the priests, at least, are genuine. …Still a good practice to have, though. As to your other questions, read on, and maybe you'll find your answers. XitaUnlucky, as I said in my reply to you, Zidane's past self _is_ in the fic, but he's not Neirin. You might actually be surprised by who he _is_. Also, yes! No one died! Color me shocked! I think it's the first chapter in a _while_ where no one died, actually.  
On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Fourteen: The Crownless King**

Kuja hadn't gone to bed yet, despite the fact that the bells outside had just tolled the hour past midnight. He yawned, turning the next page in his book. _Where _is_ he?_ He wondered, trying to fight the anxiety that pricked at him. Neirin had never come back; for all Kuja knew, Jalen had finally grown weary of waiting and had simply killed the prince outright. Surely that would have led to some kind of outcry within the temple, though? Kuja shook his head, trying to focus on his book. This was the sort of thing he enjoyed, after all; research and discoveries about the previous life cycles Terra had existed through. Indeed, it was some of his favorite material, and he'd been trying to set aside time to _read_ this book for months now… yet now that he finally had the chance, he couldn't concentrate.

"Dammit, Neirin," he muttered to the silent library. The priest who currently patrolled the shelves glanced sleepily in his direction, but said nothing. Kuja sighed, then looked back down at the book, determined to actually _read_ the thing. Wherever Neirin was, doubtless he was _fine_; there was no need to worry himself to death for Neirin's sake. The prince could take care of himself.

Outside, it was beginning to rain. Kuja heard the heavy drops pounding against the stone walls while the wind whistled, and somewhere off in the distance, thunder rolled. He thought it was… was… _oh, what was that word_… ominous. Yes, ominous. He frowned, struggling to focus on the book before him, fidgeting slightly in his seat. _Traces of the past can be found among Terra's modern landscape,_ he read, gritting his teeth in concentration.

_Though Terra in each incarnation resembles the world it most recently absorbed, the two worlds do not 'cancel each other out.' Traces of the previous Terra's landscape and civilization may be found, and are often documented and cherished by the Terrans who survive the merge of the dying Terra into the newborn Terra. _Kuja turned the page, engrossed at last. _Items 'carved in stone' are the most frequent survivors of these merges, _he read. _For example, volcanoes and buildings carved from stone are often seen to survive, but only if the stone involved in their creation currently exists on the new planet. Plant life will occasionally survive a merge, but few native Terran animals have been known to survive the transition from one environment to another, often finding themselves in habitats unsuitable. In order to best preserve plant and animal species native to Terra, often the new planet is selected specifically for its geographic resemblance to the previous planet. In times of desperation, though, it has been observed that the plants and animals native to the new planet nearly always survive the merge unscathed. For example…_

"I'll never understand how you can be so interested in that sort of thing." Neirin's voice broke through his concentration, startling him out of the book. The prince was leaning against the nearest shelf, watching with an odd little smile on his face. Kuja sighed, marked his place in the book, and set it aside. "It's late, if that escaped your notice," Neirin continued, still smiling. "Or were you so engrossed in your history lesson that you read through the bells?"

Kuja didn't have the nerve to tell Neirin he'd been _worried_. "I suppose I must have," he said, shrugging. "I was reading about past cycles. Did you know that Traje was built _two cycles_ ago?" He asked, dragging himself out of his seat. He was numb from the waist down, doubtless from sitting for so long. "And some people believe it'll be the sort of city that lasts the longest, as the stone it was built from is a…" He thought a moment. "Crystal-based structure, so it's easy to either find the stone on another world, or the stone of Traje can adjust. Oh, and Mount Gulug, too; did you know it's gone through active and inactive phases throughout all of Terra's cycles?" He was speaking animatedly now, gesturing wildly with his hands. Neirin watched, amused. "They say various civilizations – not just organizations, like Taharka's, but actual _entire civilizations_ – have lived inside of it during its dormant phases, and oh! Some people think there might be a magic circle at the base of it-"

"It's late," Neirin cut him off, laughing. "And I'm tired. You can tell me all about all of the history lessons I never bothered to pay attention during _tomorrow_, but for now, I need my rest."

Kuja paused. "What have you been doing this whole time?" He asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You left to speak to Jalen hours ago." He looked Neirin up and down, looking for any signs that he'd been fighting with the mercenary, but found only that his knees seemed to be dirty, as if he'd been kneeling somewhere. There didn't seem to be any injuries, no, but Neirin _did_ look exhausted, as if something had left him utterly drained. Or perhaps he was only tired because of the late hour? Yes, that seemed reasonable enough, didn't it?

Still…

"I… had something to discuss with Zenabri," Neirin shrugged. "I'll tell you more in the morning." _When it's all over. _ "Now, get to bed. We might be leaving tomorrow, and you'll need your rest."

Oh. Kuja's green eyes widened slightly – he hadn't expected they'd actually be _leaving_ this time. They'd talked about it before, but… "Fine, fine," he muttered, stretching. "_You_ get some sleep, too," he added, frowning up at the prince. "You look tired, for all the _discussing_ you say you've been doing."

"Stop being perceptive," Neirin sighed, shoving him toward the exit. "It's truly beginning to irritate me."

xxx

Jalen leaned against the chapel wall, watching the pale, grey morning light creep in through the oculus over the magic circle. He'd never been an especially religious man, but he had to admit, there was peace to be found in big temples like this. In a place like this, with the room lit by white candles and the sun struggling to peek through the clouds overhead, with no sound to be heard but the priests chanting the morning prayers in the next room and the rain starting to fall again outside… it was easy to believe in things like an all-seeing god, or any god, for that matter. The mercenary eyed the high priest, who was busy lighting the last of the ceremonial candles (they carried the smell of herbs and the like, leaving the room unnecessarily fragrant). The man didn't care for Jalen overmuch, that much Jalen knew, but so long as the mercenary caused no trouble, the priests could hardly cast him out.

"I'm not surprised you wished to watch," the priest – Zenabri, Jalen recalled – said, not looking back at him. "This was your scheme, wasn't it?" The old man's usually-gentle voice carried a bite, and Jalen flinched involuntarily. Zenabri lit the last of the candles, then banished the small spell-fire in his hand. It vanished with the faintest of crackles. He turned to face Jalen, his face carefully expressionless behind the lines and wrinkles that crossed it. "If you deliver him to Taharka, Terra is doomed. I've seen it in my dreams."

The dreams again. Jalen was constantly hearing about this old priest's dreams, and how they supposedly came true. "Terra goes up in flames if Garland is created. So you've told me." He sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. "Did it occur to you that I might have my _own _ulterior motives in the matter? I hardly want Terra to be wiped clean for the sake of Taharka's mad schemes. I never intended to deliver Neirin to Taharka." That, at last, seemed to catch the priest off-guard. The man's eyes widened. Jalen smiled. "What? I'm not a _complete _bastard. Terra is my home. You think it's escaped my notice that if Taharka wins, we all die for the sake of his Genome project? Garland controls the Genomes, Taharka controls Garland. That's what he wants. I'm not having it."

"So you want to play the hero," Zenabri said, bitterness creeping in to his voice… but something not unlike admiration was there, as well.

Jalen shrugged. "A little something like that, I suppose. That was my original plan," he added, wistfully. "Play the hero. Find the prince, capture him, hold him captive for two years. Get him crowned. Lead a citizen army against Taharka, and be named heroes, all of us – my friends and I. None of it went according to plan…" He sighed, closing his eyes against the renewed pain of the memory of his friends, dead now for two years, dead in only an instant. "Things with Neirin seldom seem to go according to plan, or so Taharka seemed to believe, last time I saw him." His gaze slid toward Zenabri, and he noted the man's skeptical expression. _What, you don't trust me?_ He wanted to ask, but stifled it. "And… now you're wondering why I still want to see him crowned, anyway," he guessed.

"It would be of greater profit to _you _to turn in a crowned king over a prince." Zenabri stepped into the center of the magic circle, carved with the emblem of Terra itself (surprising; Jalen would have expected the All-Seeing Eye's own emblem, but perhaps the two were one and the same, in the eyes of the priesthood), and eyed the mercenary as the circle lit with power around him. Jalen wondered what the idea behind this display was; perhaps it was merely to remind _him_ of where he stood, and the consequences of what might supposedly happen to him if he dared to betray Neirin and his brat's claim of sanctuary. It was… effective. Jalen knew little enough of these magic circles, only that they served to amplify innate power, and were used in rituals, ceremonies, callings… and bindings.

Jalen had no intention to be bound to anything.

He took a step back, just to be safe. "And in the end, I'd still find myself dead, just like everyone else on Terra," he snapped, folding his arms. "Don't think Taharka's so fond of me that he'd let me live, especially when I couldn't be arsed to tell him where Neirin's been hiding this whole time. It would've been easy for him to march into Astrula and burn the city and temple to the ground, and there wouldn't have been a damned thing you lot could've done about it. Have you heard about his pretty necklace?" Jalen asked, tapping his chest as if Taharka's stone were there. "It's a binding stone, designed to suffocate magic. He made it with the queen's own blood, did you know _that_? He told me all about it. Slit her throat and let the blood saturate the stone."

"So that's what became of poor Bellanna," Zenabri said quietly, looking away. "Neirin often wonders."

Not to be interrupted, Jalen pressed on. "No spells get by that thing. Not even Neirin's, and I've _seen_ him kill four people in one shot, as if they were nothing at all. If Taharka came here, don't doubt for a moment that he'd lay waste to this city in an instant. But _I never told him Neirin was here_," he emphasized. "Because I _don't_ intend to see Taharka's Garland project become a reality, any more than I want to see Terra in flames, if your dreams are so damn accurate."

Fortunately, there was no time for the priest to retaliate; Neirin picked that moment to arrive. The prince hardly looked like what Jalen imagined _most _princes looked like on the day of their coronation – far from triumphant and regal, Prince Neirin of Terra simply looked… tired. Still impressive, of course; Neirin could hardly _not_ be impressive, but the cracks in his façade were more obvious than they'd been the day before. Jalen felt a twinge of regret, but it was too late now: he'd been fortunate enough to get Neirin to _agree _to this; he hardly needed to take it back _now_. Still… there was no denying that the prince looked less like he was about to be crowned, and much more as if he was about to be beheaded.

"You are ready," Zenabri said, and Neirin nodded, casting only a cursory glance in Jalen's direction. The mercenary went back to leaning against the wall as the priest led Neirin toward the magic circle. A pair of priests stepped into the room, dressed in robes that were far more impressive than the near-rags the prince himself wore. Jalen imagined that if this were done properly, there would be thousands of people present, with an air of excitement. And of course, the prince would be dressed properly; befitting his station… and his guardians would have been present, as well as his family. And the boy. Jalen was surprised to see that Kuja _wasn't _present. _Too early for the boy, I imagine,_ he thought, eyeing the dawn sky overhead. Rain was falling, dripping through the oculus, but neither Zenabri nor Neirin seemed to notice or mind.

A silence settled, broken only by the sound of rain.

Jalen wondered if he should leave, out of respect.

He did not. This was his doing, after all. He had to see it through.

"I have no crown to bestow upon you," Zenabri murmured quietly, almost too quietly for Jalen to hear. "No proper rites to recite, no guardians to swear into renewed service…" The man sighed heavily. "This is more of a farce than a coronation. You have my sincerest apologies."

Neirin waved it off. "If I can call myself a king by rights when it's over, that's all that truly matters, isn't it?" His voice sounded hollow to Jalen's ears, and he found himself wondering just what it was that he was forcing on the prince. He looked away, trying to recapture the sense of peace he'd felt earlier, but found it was just out of his grasp. None of this sat well with him; he wasn't as confident in this course of action as he had been earlier – it would be easier to locate resources, transportation, and so forth if Neirin was the _king_ as opposed to simply a fugitive prince, even if his "citizen army" dream had fallen through – and he wondered if perhaps it was all due to his own selfishness.

The ceremony was a simple affair, and Jalen found he wasn't paying attention through most of it. Zenabri would say something, and to that, Neirin replied by either repeating the old man's words, or saying that yes, he swore to whatever existential nonsense he'd been asked to swear to. The other two priests were, as far as Jalen could tell, meant to be witnesses – as _he_ was apparently not a suitable witness, having coerced the prince into this affair in the first place. Jalen might have felt insulted, had he not agreed with the sentiment.

After some time, at last, Zenabri said, "Then before the eyes of the people of the mother continent and He-Who-Sees-All, I name you King Neirin of Terra." Neirin let out a long sigh, thanked the priest, and without further ceremony, he simply turned and walked out of the room. Jalen considered stopping him, but the look on the boy's face suggested he was having none of it, so he thought better of it.

"So it is done," the high priest murmured, turning his attention to Jalen. "I pray it was for the better."

Jalen didn't have the nerve to admit that he, at least, had his doubts.

xxx

The day dawned rainy and grey, of course. Kuja yawned, rolling blearily out of his cot after only an hour or two of sleep – he'd found sleep to be horribly elusive, despite how weary he'd been when he'd finally gotten _into_ bed. His mind had been racing; he'd been thinking of all of the things he'd have to bring if they truly _did_ leave today. Somewhat absurdly, he found himself hoping he could at least manage to bring along the book he hadn't managed to finish. After all, if they traveled as they had previously, they weren't likely to find any _other _books along the way… but then again, if they traveled as they had previously, they weren't likely to have _time_ to read. Kuja stretched, looking around the little cell that had been his bedroom for the past two years. It surprised him to realize he might just miss it.

"You're awake." Neirin's voice at the doorway came as only a mild surprise, and Kuja glanced over. It didn't appear as if the prince had gotten _any_ sleep.

"So are you," he observed. "And you look like you shouldn't be."

Neirin laughed, but it was an empty sort of laugh, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've had a long morning. I said I'd tell you about it, and I suppose now is as good a time as any." Kuja eyed him for a moment – what was this about? – before taking a seat on his cot and gesturing for Neirin to do the same. The prince waved it off. "This morning, I…" He hesitated. That wasn't a good sign. "Well. Yesterday, as you know, I spoke with Jalen. He… made it clear that he would be willing to serve me, were I to be crowned king."

"And you agreed," Kuja realized, eyes widening. "You _agreed_ to something _Jalen_ suggested?" He'd known Neirin was occasionally reckless, but to be so outright _stupid_…

The prince – king, now, Kuja guessed – sighed, nodding. "It made so much sense at the time. And it's hardly as if any real damage will be done, after all-"

"No real _damage?_" Kuja rose, staring incredulously. His voice was shrill, which he hadn't counted on. "What if he delivers you to Taharka? It'd make _sense_, wouldn't it? You killed his friends; of _course_ he wants you dead; what if he just… just… gets us out of the temple and stabs us on the temple stairs? Once we leave this place, we have no protection – and what if this whole time Taharka's just been sitting out there, waiting for us? What if-"

Neirin stepped forward and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, shaking him just slightly. "Kuja. Please don't assume I'm enough of a fool not to have considered all of this." Kuja fell silent, but he felt himself glaring up at Neirin, all the same. "If I were still in Traje, I'd have been crowned by now, anyway; it's my birthright. It was _my _choice to put it off this long, and my choice to… _trust_ Jalen, I suppose, enough to finally get it over with." Neirin sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Kuja's ear. "Now stop scowling like that; you'll ruin your face. Gather your things; we're leaving as soon as Jalen arrives."

xxx

It felt odd to be setting out again. Kuja hesitated at the temple entrance, blinking in the sunlight, trying to convince his pounding heart to settle down. Neirin seemed calmer, albeit still tired… and impatient. "Where _is_ he?" The freshly-minted king drummed his fingers on a nearby column, frowning into the street before them. "He ought to have been here an _hour_ ago." Kuja had already suggested three or four times by this point that perhaps they ought to leave _without_ Jalen, but Neirin was having none of it, and Kuja was tired of suggesting it. He simply sat down, watching the sun move overhead. Soon, it would be noon, and by the time they set out, it would likely be even _later_. He was in no rush to depart, no, but…

…it would have been nice to get it over with.

As luck would have it, the instant Kuja sat down, Jalen appeared. He was panting, having obviously run to the temple from He-Who-Sees-All knew where, and grinning like a fool. "Hate to be late," he said, by way of apology. "I had to secure… _transportation_ for us." He gestured for them to come down the temple stairs, and after only a moment's hesitation, Neirin took the first step. Kuja protested quietly, but he was utterly ignored, and after hesitating just a bit longer, he finally forced himself to move. If Neirin wasn't smart enough to know this was a mistake, well, it would be up to Kuja to protect him, wouldn't it?

At the base of the steps, Neirin stopped, still a fair distance away from Jalen. Now armed, Jalen looked a great deal more like the enemy he'd been two years ago, and that was enough to raise the king's guard. "Transportation?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "What sort of… transportation?"

Jalen's grin never flickered. "Follow me," he said, then ran. Neirin glanced back at Kuja, who shook his head. _Don't follow him_, the boy thought desperately. _He's leading us into a trap, I know it_! But Neirin simply shrugged, sighed, and hurried after the fleeing mercenary. Kuja growled aloud, casting one last glance back at the temple before hurrying after his idiotic, headstrong companion.

He thought he was beginning to understand how Neirin's guardians felt.

Kuja was surprised – and not a little dismayed – when they caught up with Jalen outside of a dragon corral. The beasts – which were of various sizes, colors, and breeds – snorted warily in their direction, fanning out their wings in a glorious display of feathers and scales. Neirin, of course, was beside himself with joy. "_Dragons?_" He asked, practically giddy. "You got _dragons?_" For the life of him, Kuja couldn't even muster up a smile. He had his own memories of dragons, and none of them were particularly fond ones; he'd rather hoped he'd never see one again, much less ride one. He _almost_ wished Jalen _had_ been plotting to betray them. Almost. He looked up at Neirin, though, and saw the king smiling, really _smiling_, for the first time in almost two years. He was, he supposed, alright with riding a dragon again, just this once.

"Just two," Jalen replied, as a stablehand brought out a pair of harnesses. "I couldn't afford a third, and the boy's still small enough to ride with you, I expect."

Neirin didn't particularly seem to mind, and Kuja felt relieved to know that at the very least, he wasn't expected to fly his _own_ dragon… yet, anyway. Jalen gestured for the two of them to follow him, and together the three of them trailed after the stablehand until they at last encountered their very own dragons.

They weren't silver dragons, naturally; this corral didn't seem to _have_ any of those. Likely, Kuja realized, because they cost too much to tend to. "The breed is mixed," Jalen said, as Neirin examined the larger of the two dragons. "But they're built for travel and, in case we need it, speed. Best of all, they're trained to hunt, so we won't have to worry about dragging around extra food, and _I _for one have no interest in carrying around raw meat on a journey of indeterminate length." The dragons were medium-sized; larger-boned than the silver dragons had been, but easily half the size of the Crested Royals Kuja had experienced his first flight upon. Or perhaps _he _was simply bigger now. These dragons were blue-green, covered in the feathers Kuja had come to expect on dragons. They had rather docile-looking faces; rounded with shallow-set blue-grey eyes. Their claws, however, easily canceled the charming effect the dragons' faces carried; the claws were easily each as long as Kuja's forearm.

"They'll do," Neirin said happily, quickly locking the harness around the beast with surprising ease. Even Jalen stared at him a moment, and Kuja simply gaped. The king looked between the two of them, smiling. "What? Not what you expected? You learn things when you grow up with dragons." He tugged once more on the harnesses, ensuring that they were strapped tightly in place, including the passenger-harness for Kuja. And then, without waiting, he swung himself up into the harness and quickly fastened himself in. Kuja blinked, still stunned, but managed to scramble his way up onto the beast's feathered back. Jalen, meanwhile, was struggling with putting his own dragon into harness.

"How do you _attach_ these things?" The mercenary grumbled, removing and re-attaching the harness for a third time. "It's all buckles and no direction; I _swear_…"

Kuja felt the tiniest bit of smug satisfaction with the knowledge that Jalen was, at least, not nearly as proficient with dragon-flying as Neirin was. That was something. Neirin, meanwhile, simply laughed. "You've got it backwards," he pointed out. "Honestly, if you're going to fly a dragon, you ought to at least know how to harness one, you fool."

"I'm a fighter, not a flyer," Jalen shot back, turning the harness around. "You didn't hire me for my skill with dragons." As if to underscore the point, as he was re-attaching the harness, one of the dragon's feathers got caught in the leather, and the beast looked over its shoulder and roared at him. Startled, Jalen fell backwards, whacking his head on a nearby bucket. Even Kuja had to laugh aloud at this. Jalen glared, staggering back to his feet. "And now the child laughs," he grumbled, but a smile pulled at the corner of his lips, all the same. "I suppose you're a master dragoner, too, aren't you? Maybe _I _ought to fly with the king, and you can have your own beast." That put an end to Kuja's laughing, though he couldn't help snickering, all the same.

"That reminds me." Jalen reached into his pocket. Kuja felt Neirin tense up behind him, doubtless expecting some kind of weapon. And indeed, it _was_ a weapon – a small knife, likely incapable of doing a great deal of damage, but sharp, nonetheless. Jalen tucked it into a leather carrying case, and handed it up to Kuja. "If you're going to be my fellow guardian, it only seems right that you ought to be properly armed."

Kuja took the little knife out of its case and studied the blade. "I could do more damage with a book," he pointed out; the blade was only approximately the length of his index finger. It was likely a cooking knife, given to him for a lark. His green-eyed gaze slid toward Jalen, and he smirked. "I brought a book, you know." It was true; he wasn't about to give up the book he hadn't yet finished.

Jalen threw his arms in the air, and turned back to his dragon. "Don't buy presents for children," he muttered. "Ungrateful brats!"

"Not bad," Neirin murmured in his ear, grinning. Kuja returned the grin, feeling rather proud of himself. Still, he tucked the knife away – if he could find a use for a book, doubtless he could find a use for this tiny knife. Meanwhile, Jalen finally managed to secure the harness on his (obviously agitated) dragon, and he took a step back to admire his handiwork.

"Any ideas where to go next?" The mercenary asked, glancing up at them. "I was thinking we'd keep to the west. Sure, it's risky – most of Taharka's cult is concentrated in the area – but if we're smart about it, it's the last place the old bastard'll think to look. And he hasn't been as eager to burn down his own cities," Jalen added, pulling himself up into the dragon's harness. "So if we're careful-"

"Lisre," Neirin said quietly.

Jalen frowned. "Well, yes, there was _that_, but we don't know why he-"

"No, I want to _go_ to Lisre," Neirin clarified. "I want to find out why Taharka destroyed a city that was loyal to him. And maybe… maybe I can find out something more about the projects he's been working on." He scowled dangerously. "And maybe I can start planning my own revenge."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Dragons! Revenge! ...Hey look, a page full of random Origins trivia, which will be updated frequently, if I remember to do so! For the trivia page, check my LiveJournal, which should be listed as my webpage on my profile. As of right now, it is the third entry on the page. If you're coming late to the story and can't find it within the first few entries (it is labeled "Origins"), either:

1. Mention it in a review here, and I'll PM you the link  
2. Search for "fanfic" under my journal tags  
3. Comment on my most recent LJ entry (and yes, anonymous commenting is allowed on my journal), and ask for the link

Enjoy! I'll try to update it at least once a week with whatever information strikes my fancy or whatever questions are asked in the reviews (I'll still write personal replies to anyone who asks questions, though). See you all next week!


	15. The Seeds' Decline

**Author's Note:** We are now halfway to the number of chapters I do not want to reach. And according to my planning, _this should have been chapter thirteen_. This fic just keeps getting longerrrrr. ; A ;  
XitaUnlucky, I hope you enjoyed the trivia page! It'll be updated again with info for this chapter, of course. And yes, Kuja is a dragon-disliking bookworm – and a history nut, to boot. I love him. Eterniawolf, Jalen will be a combination of a big help and a pain in the ass for the duration of his time in the fic, so yeah, he's just awesome. It really is a good thing he's along for the ride, though, since prior to this, the only person in the group capable of doing any damage without magic was _the ten year old_. And Pip… wait. Pip? _Pip?_ My god, where is Pip? D: Someone send out a search party!  
Or just read this chapter.

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Fifteen: The Seeds' Decline**

The world had changed over the course of two years, and all of it for the worse. Flying through the clouds on the backs of their rather swift-flying dragons, Kuja dared to look down, and wished he hadn't, for reasons that had little to do with his lingering dislike for flight. The further north they flew, the bleaker the landscape became. Plant life dwindled and eventually disappeared altogether, leaving barren blue-grey earth in its place. There were no animals to be seen, either; no grazing or running beasts, no birds in the air. A few strange-looking creatures prowled, though, unlike any animals Kuja had ever heard of: gaping mouths, no eyes or other features visible (at least from so high up), creeping around on what looked like several hundred tentacles.

"Malboros," Neirin yelled behind him, shouting to be heard over the wind. "Very rare. They thrive in toxic areas."

_Toxic?_ Kuja looked down again, swallowing against his dizzy nausea. The land certainly _looked_ toxic, but… "Why is it like this?" He called back, but if Neirin heard him, the king chose not to answer. Kuja chose to believe his words had simply been swallowed by the wind, and left it at that. He believed he didn't want to know the _real_ answer.

They flew north for three days, without stopping. The dragons showed no sign of fatigue from the journey; Jalen had chosen wisely. There was no use in stopping to let the beasts hunt – there was nothing _to_ hunt (apart from the malboros, which looked every bit as poisonous as the land they inhabited). As for the three of them, they ate and slept in the harness. Kuja of course ate sparingly, and struggled to keep down whatever he managed to eat; this was a source of some distress for Neirin, who wasn't at all interested in being vomited on in midair. By some miracle, that never came to pass. Still, when at last the silhouette of the city of Lisre appeared on the horizon, it came as a relief to _both_ of them.

Lisre was a peculiar city. Kuja had read a bit about it in his history books. Apparently, it had been a quiet, rather unremarkable town not four centuries ago, prior to the crash of a floating city nearby. Because this had been before the widespread domestication of dragons, no one had known what the inside of the floating cities and castles might be _like_, and because the floating city had fallen from a very low altitude, it had remained largely intact. This had quite suddenly transformed sleepy Lisre into an archeological heaven. Travelers from far and wide had journeyed to Lisre in hopes of studying the relics of the floating city, and the technology contained within. For centuries now, the fallen city – dubbed "Archae One," in the optimistic hope that there would be a _Two_ – had been a tourist and scholar attraction, and there were still many things no one fully understood. The last cycle had been longer than most, and they had clearly enjoyed technology that modern Terrans didn't quite understand, though not for lack of trying. Knowledge had not been passed along with the survivors of the past cycle, obviously.

The closest thing they'd had to that sort of technology were the airships, and those were long gone, unless Taharka had his way.

Now, however, Lisre looked nothing like the technological center of Terra. As the two dragons settled onto the dry, cracked tiles in the center of the town plaza, Kuja stared at the ruins that rose around them. Many of the buildings had been burned, leaving only their stone shells behind. Flowerbeds had lined the streets, fed by an ingenious miniature aqueduct, but now the beds were empty, and the aqueducts had been smashed in many places. Some of the trees that grew in the plaza were struggling to put out leaves, but only a few small, green buds were visible here and there. The fountain in the center of the plaza was bone-dry and broken, leaving only jagged, splintered stone behind.

"I'm not entirely certain what you expect to find here," Jalen said, sliding down off of the dragon, which nipped irately at him. He swatted at it, then sighed. "Six months have passed, you're aware? Anything Taharka felt like hiding is probably long gone. You're not likely to find anything useful." The mercenary sat on the edge of the fountain, while his dragon snorted and settled down on the ground. Whatever Neirin wanted to do here, obviously, Jalen wasn't going to accompany him.

Neirin dismounted, then helped Kuja slide down without ruffling the dragon's feathers. "I'll find what I can find," he said flatly, flipping his hair out of his eyes haughtily. "Taharka can't hide _everything_, and I am remarkably stubborn."

"Tell me about it," Jalen shot back, settling into sharpening his double-bladed sword with a whetstone. "If you _weren't_, we wouldn't _be here._ Just… hurry up about it before Taharka magically discovers you're here, would you? I have no interest in watching you die over something silly like this."

"Silly?" Neirin glared furiously, and looked fully prepared to launch into yet another of his tirades. Kuja looked around, eager to find _something_ to distract him before they got caught up in this argument for the better part of the day. He didn't like this city. He wanted to leave it as soon as possible, and get back to somewhere where it was _green_ again, not this pale, sickly blue-grey.

Immediately, he realized something. Or rather, the _lack_ of something.

"There are no bodies," he pointed out, and the other two paused in their bickering to look at him.

"Of course not," Neirin replied. "It was six months ago, Kuja. Surely they cleaned out the bodies or animals ate them by now; what are you…" He paused. He looked around. "…But there were no meat-eating beasts around when we flew overhead. …No blood here, either. The stone here is porous; blood would've left a stain if anyone were killed." The king smiled, a look of triumph spreading across his features. "They _did _evacuate. As I suspected."

Jalen spoke up. "Any clever idea as to _why_?" He demanded. "An entire city, vacated overnight – a city that expressly and openly followed Taharka's teachings, no less. You'd think they'd just commit mass suicide, given his master plan-"

"Maybe they did!" Neirin whirled to face him, excited. "Maybe they're in a mass grave somewhere?" He looked around, as if expecting such a grave to suddenly reveal itself to him. "Why this city? It's the only one loyal to Taharka that he's destroyed, isn't it? Why _this_ city? What was he doing here?" The king glanced at Kuja. "You're the scholar; what was so important about this city that Taharka would want it destroyed?" Kuja stared back at him for a long moment, uncertain if he was actually _serious_. When Neirin didn't so much as bat an eyelash, however, he realized the man _was_ serious.

Well, this wasn't going to be fun.

The boy cleared his throat, thinking back. "Er… well, it's popular among scholars, historians, and tourists, and historians tend to support Taharka based on his extensive research into the past…" he recalled. Neirin waved it off – he already knew that much. "Well, there's Archae One," Kuja pointed out. "And all of its technology. If Taharka is looking to build an airship for war, he might have sought out the fallen city? After all, if he found one in Pandemonium, he might have tried to find one in the Archae?" That, he thought, was a fine bit of brilliance, but Neirin didn't seem convinced. Dammit. "Um… well… maybe he was incorporating the technology into the main city itself?" That was a stretch. He really just wanted to sound like he had something intelligent to offer; after all, he _was_ supposed to be the "scholar." It was hardly _his_ fault he hadn't managed to read all that much about Lisre in his studies. How was _he_ to know the information was going to come in handy?

"Is that all?" Neirin asked. Kuja nodded, disappointed in himself. The king sighed. "Well… Archae, hm? I suppose it's possible. And likely, when you really think about it… Taharka _is_ showing an odd affinity for technology of late." That was something of an understatement. Between his plans for Garland, which was a medical and magical miracle on its own, there were also his plans for an airship, his various other experiments, and likely many other things they _didn't _know about.

From his perch on the fountain, Jalen glanced up. "I hope you aren't planning to explore the Archae."

"We may as well," Neirin replied. "We're here, after all. Why?" He smiled. "Are you afraid of what ancient horrors may lurk behind the walls?"

"Not really," Jalen replied, shrugging. "It's more that we don't have the time to waste. I guarantee Taharka is still looking for you. Like as not, he probably _knew_ you were in Astrula, and was content to let you stay penned there." At Neirin's suspicious glare, the man sighed. "No, _I _didn't tell him, but consider the facts, won't you? Four mercenaries turned up dead in one day. You two were seen running through the streets, and were obviously seen at the temple at _some _point over the course of two years. Rumors travel, Your Majesty, and Taharka is nothing if not attentive to rumors. Rumors will _also_ spread that you've now _left_ the temple. And he'll start looking for you again."

Neirin shook his head. "Not so soon, and not here, not yet. He'll expect me to go somewhere I might think to find safety, not headfirst into his own territory. For all he knows, I know _nothing _of what transpired here." With a wry grin, he looked around at the ruined city. "Which is fair enough, truly, because I _do_ know nothing of what he did here. But I _want to find out_, Jalen."

"I don't suppose there's anything I can do to change your mind?"

"Unless you can tell me precisely what Taharka was doing here, no."

"Well." Jalen tucked his weapon back into its sheath on his back, and rose to his feet. "Let's head for Archae then, shall we?"

It caught Neirin off-guard – and Kuja, too. He blinked up at the mercenary, even as Neirin stammered, "Wha- _we_? I thought you weren't interested in helping us search. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Jalen shrugged. "Who says I need a reason? You might need help. Before we head off, though, it might still be worth our while to search Lisre itself. After all, Taharka didn't burn the _Archae,_ he burned _Lisre_. Why?" He glanced around. "Now, it's been a while since my last visit, but if my memory serves, the actual _cultists_ tended to live… that way," he pointed. "If anyone in Lisre was doing Taharka's bidding directly, it would've likely been the true cultists, rather than simply the people who supported his beliefs without completely embracing his way of life."

They set out, leaving the dragons to sleep in the plaza; they weren't likely to wander off. Kuja was mystified by the construction of the city – unlike most Terran cities, Lisre was multi-leveled. They had built stone platforms high above the ground, not unlike the platforms formed by the roots of the trees outside of Bran Bal. And upon those platforms, the city had expanded: houses and businesses alike were spread across the platforms. The area they were walking through seemed austere in comparison to the well-decorated plaza. There were no flowerbeds here, no fountains, no tiles, no trees – only buildings, carved with Terra's emblem. The emblem that, apparently, Taharka had adopted for himself. Clearly, the cultists weren't the materialistic type.

"Do you smell that?" Jalen asked, sniffing at the air. "It smells like something… rotten." Kuja sniffed, and sure enough, there was _something_ foul on the air.

"Rotting food, maybe?" He suggested, trying not to breathe – the smell was getting stronger the further into the district they walked.

Jalen shook his head. "It would've burned, don't you think?" He sniffed carefully, obviously tracking the scent like a hound. "That way," he pointed. "It's coming from that way. So do we want to go _toward_ it, or…" He looked at Neirin, one eyebrow lifted. "It's up to you. I'd say, like as not, it's those bodies you were wondering about, if I had to hazard a guess."

Without hesitating (or gagging, which was the greater accomplishment, in Kuja's eyes), Neirin set off toward the source of the odor, climbing over several half-collapsed buildings in the process. Jalen followed swiftly and easily, but Kuja scrambled awkwardly over the stones, struggling to keep up. In all honesty, he wasn't certain he _wanted_ to follow; the smell was awful, and if it _was_ six-month-old bodies, he _knew_ he wasn't interested in seeing them. He remembered the sight of fresh death all too clearly to want to see _old_ death any time soon.

As he was climbing over a particularly difficult pile of rubble, his foot slipped, and the rocks began to cave in beneath his feet. He felt the largest rock sliding, and froze – only to feel it slide away completely, dragging many smaller rocks with it. And then, suddenly, there was _nothing_ under his feet, only an open hole, and he screamed, grabbing frantically at the surrounding stones. They came free in his hands, and he felt himself sliding back toward the open hole below.

"Kuja!" Neirin appeared seemingly from nowhere and seized his hand, struggling to pull him back up. There was no leverage, however; the rocks simply continued sliding away beneath the king's feet. It was Jalen who managed to put an end to it; he calmly stepped forward and watched the two of them struggling.

"Stairs," the mercenary pointed out.

"_What?_" Neirin snapped, glaring at him. "Don't just _stand_ there, _help_ us!"

Jalen pointed at the hole beneath Kuja's feet. "There are stairs. It's a stairwell leading underground." Kuja paused long enough to look down. Sure enough, perhaps half his height down, there was a stone platform, albeit one now covered in small bits of rubble.

More importantly, though, now that he'd stopped panicking, he realized that the rotting stench was rising from this particular passage. The air hit him like a solid mass, and he gasped, choking. Jalen watched approvingly. "Well, it seems we've found what we were looking for," he murmured. "Something hidden underground, away from prying eyes, in the cultists' district – something that could be easily concealed by collapsing the building on top."

"Something that _smells_," Kuja snapped.

Neirin dropped him. He skidded down a few stairs, aided by the loose rock, but managed to regain his footing just as Neirin and Jalen lowered themselves into the stairwell. The two of them went ahead, but Kuja lingered behind a moment, steeling his nerves. _They're only bodies,_ he told himself. _They were once people, just like you. There's nothing to be afraid of. Death is natural_. He took a deep breath (and immediately regretted it), then descended down the stairwell into the darkness below. They were just people. Just bodies. No need to be afraid of them.

The room was poorly lit, but lit in a way Kuja had never seen. Pale blue orbs radiated their own sickly light, hanging here and there throughout the room, rather than the magefire torches Kuja had grown accustomed to. The air was heavy and humid, and Kuja felt his stomach rolling and his throat tightening against the moist, putrid atmosphere. Lining the walls were bizarre, man-sized glass tubes, but what was _inside_ the tubes, Kuja didn't dare try to guess – they were black and red and brown within, and several of the tubes were leaking out whatever foulness was within.

The worst part, though, were the bodies.

They weren't people.

They looked like children. Some about Kuja's age, some younger. It was hard to tell males from females, given the state of decay and, as far as Kuja could make out, the fact that the two sexes _looked the same_. They were bloated and rotting in a pile at the far end of the room, draped haphazardly on top of one another, staring blindly at the empty room. Some of them were missing limbs, others seemed to have too many of them. Some of them had what looked like numbers stitched into their clothing. Others had an odd symbol in place of the number, but Kuja couldn't make out the symbol, and had no intention of getting close enough _to_ make it out. And here and there among the enormous pile of bodies, there was a tail.

"Could these be Genomes?" Neirin murmured, stepping closer.

"What?" Jalen asked. "Geno-what?" Kuja might have answered, but he didn't trust himself to open his mouth without vomiting. He simply stared at the horrific mass before him, unsure of what to think, feel, or do. _They're just bodies just bodies just bodies,_ he told himself. _Just bodies, just dead things, just things, just bodies just bodies._ But they weren't. They were proof that Taharka really _had_ produced Genomes. The threat of Garland had hung over their head for so long that Kuja had nearly forgotten Taharka's declaration that he had managed to produce a seed capable of growing into a humanoid being, a _Genome_. It seemed impossible that there were real Genomes before him now, albeit very dead ones.

Neirin knelt, studying the nearest body. "Genomes," he repeated. "According to Taharka's plan, when Garland comes to power, he'll revive the Terrans by first creating _these_ – soulless Genomes. When Terra merges with the new world, the Genomes will receive the souls of the people of Terra." He rose, looking back at the two of them. "I would have expected him to conduct this research at Pandemonium, with the rest of his mad experiments. Why risk it in a city like this?"

Kuja had no answer. Nor did Jalen, judging by his silence.

The king began rummaging around the small room – laboratory, Kuja supposed – as if he thought he might find some answer hidden within. Kuja, meanwhile, struggled not to look at the pile of Genome corpses, focusing instead on the nasty-looking glass tubes. He supposed they must have been used to "grow" the Genomes. _Immortal beings,_ Kuja remembered. _They don't _look_ so immortal._

"A research log," Neirin said suddenly, picking up what looked like a thick book, left on the floor beneath the lone desk that stood in the corner. The king flipped through the pages, skimming over the older logs until he reached the final page. "'Master Taharka has ordered us to terminate our research,'" he read aloud. "'It will not be resumed until Project Garland is concluded. End of log.' Well, that's unhelpful," he muttered, flipping back an entry or two. "'Three more Genomes expired today. We have concluded that this is due to a flaw contained within the seed itself, rather than an error during development. The final Genome tested with a soul is still in stasis within Archae One, but we theorize that if allowed to _leave_ stasis, she will expire like her kin. We are now looking into the cause of this fatal flaw. Possible theories…'" The king trailed off, apparently deeming the rest of the entry to be unimportant. He flipped to the next entry. "'The flaw in the seed is caused not by human error, but by the decline of Terra herself. Enough of the planet has succumbed to decay that the seeds can no longer thrive, and so the vessels die as a result. We are submitting these findings for Master Taharka's consideration.'"

"And Taharka told them to give it up," Jalen concluded, as Neirin set the book aside. "What does it mean by… _enough of the planet has succumbed to decay_?"

Kuja looked up. "The land around Lisre is dead," he pointed out. "What if… what if the rest of the world is like that, too?"

"Taharka has been killing people left and right, burning cities to the ground, destroying the fields around them." Neirin closed his eyes. "He's forcing Terra into the decline he always _pretended_ was happening. We'll have no choice _but_ to merge with a new planet, at this rate, and when we do…"

Silence fell between the three of them. No one wanted to say it.

At last, Jalen spoke up. "When we do, Taharka will have likely killed off all of Terra's current citizens to make room for his Genomes. And _making _the Genomes is the task assigned to-"

"Garland," Neirin said flatly. "It's the task assigned to Garland."

"What happens if there _is_ no Garland?" Kuja asked.

Neirin was silent for a moment. "I don't know. But I suppose we'll find out," he said, forcing a smile. "As I have no intention of dying so easily. The _real _question is… what can we do to put an end to Taharka's schemes? I doubt we can save _Terra_, but…"

"Well, first," Jalen spoke up. "I think we ought to pay a visit to the Archae. Apparently there are _more _Genomes there, if the research log is to be believed. Including one with a _soul_. If there's a sentient being trapped in there, I think we ought to save her." At their incredulous looks, he laughed. "What? You think I'd leave an innocent girl trapped in an ancient city? What sort of rogue do you think I am?"

Jalen was, Kuja decided, completely insane.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, things look pretty much utterly hopeless. Which is par for the course. Until next time!


	16. The Last Vessel

**Author's Note:** So, I've re-plotted everything, and this is looking like it's going to shape up to be well over thirty chapters. Rejoice, readers, while I sob in disappointment over my inability to restrain myself to simple chapter limits!  
XitaUnlucky, I'm glad it's giving you a new perspective – that's the idea behind the whole fic! I want to explore an alternate point of view, since what we know of Terra pretty much comes from, well, Garland. Who may have a skewed view. Pip, I'm so glad to see you're back! I worried about you last week (I think it's the only chapter you missed the week it came out). And oh, lord, do I share your view of Malboros. Bad Breath is pretty much the most underhanded attack in FF history. Midnight the Black Fox, you're back! :D I'm glad to see you're back again! And yes, Kuja is very glad to get away from rotting bodies. And JessRangel, OMGWTHBOOKTOTHEFACE is pretty much the most memorable thing from the entirety of chapter twelve. Sure, Neirin fried some guys, but _Kuja hit a guy in the face with a __**book**__._ That was a fun scene to write, and I'm glad people apparently enjoyed it.  
On with the chapter! It's extra-long!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Sixteen: The Last Vessel**

If Kuja had believed he hated flying, he soon realized he hated _walking_ with the dragons even more. He sat queasily on his dragon's back, rocking awkwardly back and forth with the beast's lumbering strides. Comfortingly, though, Neirin seemed even _less_ happy about it, but there was no sense in flying the short distance to Archae One – it was a fair distance to walk, but not worth the time it would take to get the dragons in the air. Or so Neirin and Jalen said. Kuja thought he'd have preferred the walk. Still, none of them were interested in wasting the time necessary to walk to the Archae and back to fetch the dragons; as Jalen insisted on pointing out, they didn't have a great deal of time to waste. And so they rode the walking, snorting, clearly agitated dragons, who seemed no less eager to walk than Kuja was to ride them.

When he saw the Archae, though, the awkward steps of the dragon below him were forgotten. The ancient city sat at a strange angle, just slightly off-kilter, doubtless due to whatever mechanism at its base that had once kept the city afloat. Many of the buildings were either outright collapsed or displaying signs of decay: lacy cracks sliced up the sides of the taller buildings, while shorter ones appeared to be struggling against all logic in order to stand. The entire city had a strange, dusty atmosphere about it, as if the city itself lamented its own decay, and the air around it reacted accordingly.

And everywhere, there were eyes.

Some were sculptures. Open stone eyes, gazing out at the world, wide and staring. Those, Kuja didn't find particularly disturbing; he'd seen sculptures and carvings of eyes nearly his entire life – statues carved in the likeness of the All-Seeing Eye. Elsewhere, though, lodged in the sides of crumbling buildings, situated alongside ancient doorways, were _real eyes_. They stared at the three of them as they approached the city, unblinking. Some were enormous, others were smaller; some were white, others yellow, and still others seemed to be constantly shifting colors.

Kuja felt uneasy. "What… _are_ they?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at Neirin, who looked no less disturbed.

"They might be the city's guardians," Neirin suggested. "They're likely harmless." What he _didn't_ say was "hopefully." Kuja looked back at the eyes, shuddering. Guardians or not, he suspected he wouldn't have been able to live in a city where his every move was followed by enormous staring _eyes_. He looked away, choosing instead to study the rubble the dragons were now trudging through – buildings that had crumbled when the city had fallen from the sky. There also appeared to be shattered sculptures, large chunks of the city walls (what good would walls have done in the sky? Kuja thought that seemed a bit useless… until it occurred to him that the idea was not to keep enemies _out_, but to keep citizens _in_), and here and there, enormous shards of what looked like colorful, shimmering glass. The shards glittered oddly against the otherwise barren landscape, looking strangely foreign among the dead, crumbling ruins. For the life of him, Kuja couldn't see where the shards might have come from.

They reached the shattered edge of the city, where the largest part of the wall had been smashed away by the impact. Jalen slid off of his dragon, dodging the creature's irate snap. "Bigger than I thought," he commented, looking up at the Archae, which towered over them and stretched on for miles in either direction.

"It's a city," Neirin pointed out, helping Kuja down from the dragon's back. "Just like any other."

Jalen eyed him. "Yes. But it's a _floating_ city," he pointed out. "I expected it would be smaller. To compensate."

As for himself, Kuja had _no_ expectations for the flying city; prior to seeing Pandemonium, he hadn't known such things existed. His life in Bran Bal seemed so small now. He looked at the enormous city looming before them, trying to imagine it floating through the sky. It must have looked like a floating _island_. How did something of this size _float_? He suddenly wanted nothing so much as to go around to the exposed lower mechanism of the city and see it for himself, to better understand the technology at work here. _They had airships,_ he remembered. _If they made this, airships were probably nothing._ Eager to see the city for himself, he set off toward it, leaving Neirin and Jalen to argue behind him.

There was a bit of a jump between the ground and the city's street-level, but Kuja was _just_ tall enough to scramble up onto the dusty, smooth ground. He stood somewhat awkwardly, leaning forward to prevent himself from falling back off of the city. Overhead, the eyes looked down at him, and he froze, waiting for some kind of defensive attack. None came. The eyes simply watched, emotionless and, seemingly, unconcerned. Kuja breathed a sigh of relief, and began trudging up the incline. He didn't know what he was looking for, really – only that he wanted to _look_, to see this ancient city, a relic straight out of the books he'd read. People had _lived_ here once, thousands upon thousands of years ago, in the last cycle. They'd created miracles of technology, things that seemed impossible even now. _And they left us none of it,_ he thought somewhat bitterly. Those who had survived the merge with the new planet had failed to pass on their technology and knowledge to the new generation, and so the knowledge was lost.

Kuja moved slowly up the street, pausing occasionally to glance into a building. Most were obviously homes, though all furnishings were gone or destroyed, erased by time. Some walls had carvings above the doors – they looked like they may have been letters, perhaps the names of whoever had lived in the houses. Some homes seemed to be large enough to have housed two or even three families, and Kuja fought the urge to thoroughly explore the buildings: they were obviously unstable, teetering dangerously or held up by only one or two supports.

"And have you found anything?"

Neirin's voice startled him, and he jumped away from the window he'd been peering into. The king and Jalen stood nearby, watching him with unconcealed amusement. He wondered how long they'd been following him as he crept through the city. Likely longer than he'd like to imagine. Embarrassed, Kuja opted to glare at both of them. "Not… necessarily, no," he managed. He supposed he ought to have been looking for any signs that Taharka had been working within the city, but he'd been a bit distracted…

"This looks to be a residential area," Jalen observed, looking around at the houses lining the street. "I have my doubts that Taharka would bother doing much of _anything_ here; it lacks the resources I expect he'd need." It was a fair point. Kuja didn't see any kind of advanced technology among the houses – indeed, they looked rather similar to the small buildings of Bran Bal.

They walked up the angled street in silence, and the eyes overhead watched passively. Kuja began to feel less troubled by the eyes' presence; they seemed to be genuinely harmless, albeit a bit disturbing. Neither Jalen nor Neirin seemed especially bothered by them. Kuja began to feel a bit foolish for being bothered by them in the first place; what were _eyes_ going to do, anyhow? He looked up at the largest of them as he followed Neirin and Jalen deeper into the heart of the city. It was enormous and yellow, with a red iris. Odd. He'd never seen any eyes like that in _people_; why had the creators of this city chosen to make this one look this way? Perhaps this was how they viewed the All-Seeing Eye. …Kuja had always believed the Eye to be a _person_; that the "Eye" part was merely metaphorical. Perhaps not.

"This looks a bit more promising," Jalen said, pausing before a massively tall tower, one of the few that bore no obvious signs of damage. "It's daunting, it's structurally sound, and it's preposterous. That sounds a bit like Taharka's style, don't you think?" Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward and pushed the heavy, carved stone door open.

A sickly blue light spilled out through the open door. "It's like the light in the room with the Genomes," Kuja pointed out, looking up at Neirin. "Why don't they just use torches?"

"Blue light," Neirin murmured. "I wonder if the _color_ matters." It struck Kuja as an absurd suggestion; why should the_ color_ of the light matter? He didn't want to voice the opinion, however – after all, what did he know of light? Neirin followed Jalen into the tower, and Kuja somewhat reluctantly followed; he was afraid of finding yet another pile of misshapen, decaying corpses. There was no smell, though, which was somewhat reassuring.

Inside, the room was… empty. Enormous, but empty save for the pale blue orbs along the walls.

"This is a bit of a disappointment," Jalen said, frowning as he looked around the empty room. "Unless I'm horribly blind… no stairs? Just how would someone get to the higher floors?" He looked at the two of them, perhaps expecting some sort of answer. "You're a mage," he said, looking at Neirin suspiciously. "Is there some way to… walk through walls? Float through ceilings?"

Neirin shook his head, looking just as baffled as Jalen clearly was. "No way that I'm familiar with. Either way, Taharka is no mage. An alchemist, perhaps, but no mage."

So they were stuck. Kuja looked around, desperate to make himself useful – there had to be _some_ way to navigate the floors; why else would there be a _tower_? But there were no stairs, and no sign that there ever _had_ been stairs… no sign, that was, except for…

"There's a hole in the ceiling," he pointed out, pointing toward the ceiling. It was a fairly good-sized hole, perfectly round, located just in the center of the enormous room. Still, it didn't appear as if there had ever been a stairwell below it, and the floor below seemed to have never been disturbed.

Jalen looked up at it, considering. "A bit high." He folded his arms, leaning back a bit to get a better guess at the height. "I may be able to lift the boy up, but as for the two of _us_…" The mercenary looked at Neirin. "No offense intended, but you're a bit heavy to lift straight up like that, and I couldn't get myself up there even if I _could_ lift you." Neirin's eyes narrowed, but the king said nothing, likely choosing to accept the comment about his weight as simple fact.

Kuja considered this for a moment. "You could lift me up," he suggested. "And I could see if it's even worth going up another floor? Perhaps all of the floors are like this, just empty. Perhaps Taharka got rid of the last Genome the log mentioned? He obviously wanted to hide the research, after all. He destroyed a town to do it." Come to think of it, he _wouldn't _be surprised if all of the floors were empty – or if the final Genome had been disposed of. After all, if the log was to be believed, the Genome would have likely died if not in stasis. Why keep a flawed creation if a better one could be made later? The more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

Still, he would have liked to have seen a living Genome, if only for the experience of it.

After a moment, Jalen sighed. "It's better than nothing." He gestured for Kuja to follow him to the center of the room, beneath the odd hole. Once beneath it, the mercenary hoisted Kuja up, making a show of straining against the boy's slight weight. Kuja rolled his eyes, reaching for the ledge that was just – _just_ – out of reach. He got his hands on the edge, then (with a bit of satisfaction) he stepped on Jalen's head to give himself the last bit of boost he needed to throw his arms over the edge. Jalen grunted and swore, calling him several dozen rather unpleasant names, but Kuja was too proud of himself to care. He thought he heard Neirin snickering, but it was drowned out by an odd crunching, grinding noise.

"What in the name of –" Jalen's weight suddenly dropped out from beneath Kuja, and the boy yelped, struggling to maintain his grip on the ledge – it was a _long_ way to fall back down. He heard Jalen grunt somewhere below him, having obviously fallen over, though _why_, Kuja couldn't imagine. He kicked wildly, trying to throw his leg up over the ledge, but he lacked the strength to do it. He clawed at the ledge as he felt himself beginning to slip, but it did him no good. Gritting his teeth, Kuja decided to let go. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it'd hurt like hell… but it was better than tearing himself apart trying to do _this_.

So he let go.

In the same instant, the floor caught up to him.

Well. Not the _floor_ exactly, but a small platform, floating up from the floor below. Kuja blinked, sitting in stunned shock as the platform rose, passing the second floor (which was also empty, as he'd expected), then the third, fourth, and fifth… and finally coming to a rather abrupt halt on the sixth floor, which appeared to be as high as it could possibly go. He rose cautiously to his feet, half-expecting the platform to drop out from beneath him. When it didn't, he stepped off of it, and watched in mild horror as it began descending slowly once again. From somewhere below, he heard Neirin yelling. He couldn't be sure if the king was yelling up at him to determine if he was still alive… or yelling at Jalen for whatever the man had done to cause the platform to rise.

He rather hoped it was the latter.

With nothing better to do and no way to get back down, he looked around. Unlike the other floors, _this _one was anything but empty. Indeed, it looked a great deal like the underground room in which they'd found the dead Genomes – the same glass tubes lined the walls. These were clear, however, and filled with a clear, bright liquid. There were more of the tubes, naturally – whoever had built this facility had made full use of the large space. More of the odd blue orbs were hanging throughout the room, giving it a bizarre blue glow. Kuja's heart pounded. If there _was _still a living Genome, this was where it would be. He swallowed, approaching the nearest wall, looking apprehensively in each of the tubes, half-expecting at each turn to be greeted by a face.

Behind him, the platform ground to a halt once more. The boy looked, relieved to see that Neirin had managed to make his way to the top floor, as well – and Jalen too, naturally. "An elevator," Jalen was saying, as they stepped off of the platform. "I've _heard _about these. They're powered by some kind of gravitational magic, a bit like a Float spell, only it works both ways and never expires…" His voice trailed off as the mercenary realized just where they were standing. He looked around in amused awe, letting out a whistle. "Incredible. All the way up here."

"I expect this served as a storage area," Neirin said, walking over to where Kuja stood and peering into the nearest glass tube. "Somewhere for Taharka's minions to store the Genomes to better conceal what they were doing. Couldn't have them prowling around through the streets of Lisre, could they? I expect they must have used teleportation to actually _get_ them here, but Lisre is well within teleportation range-"

Jalen shook his head. "Teleportation's a myth," he interrupted, then paused. "…Isn't it?"

"A far cry from it," Neirin replied, looking rather smug. "It's simply complicated and riddled with special limitations. You can only go so far, and you have to know exactly where you're going, or you might end up in the wrong place. Most people establish specific teleportation locations for that very purpose, and they could have easily done so here, with all of this open space; no worries about catching yourself caught in a tragic situation. It's also a runic spell," he added. "Not strictly inherent magic. Anyone can do it. _You _could do it, if you knew the correct runes. And so," he concluded, "Could Taharka."

"So that's how they got the Genomes out without alerting the entire city," Jalen agreed, though his voice carried a note of skepticism. "But what'd they do with them once they were here? Just tuck them away into storage? It seems passing unlikely they'd build a bunch of… 'vessels,' or what have you, only to do nothing with them."

Kuja ignored both of them, choosing instead to continue his circuit around the room, peering into the glass. _Empty,_ he thought, passing each one. _Empty, empty, empty._ The Genome the log had mentioned was long gone by now, most likely, destroyed by Taharka in order to remove every last trace that any research had ever been done here. It was an interesting turn of events, Kuja thought, that despite the fact that Taharka didn't seem concerned about hiding his intention to destroy every city on Terra, he had apparently been troubled by the thought of someone uncovering the research being done in Lisre. _The seeds were failing, though, _he recalled. _Perhaps he didn't want the world to know he was failing_. It made as much sense as anything else Taharka had done. The world was ending, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it… though what could be done to stop _Taharka_, now, that was a different story entirely.

He looked back at Neirin, who was still deep in a discussion with Jalen about just what Taharka may have been doing with the stored Genomes, and wondered for the first time if they even stood a chance. Neirin was powerful, certainly, but not nearly as skilled as he thought himself to be, and Jalen… who was to say Jalen could be trusted? And himself, he was nothing but a boy, and he had no true weapon. Books and bits of wood were all well and good as a surprise, but if they had to _fight_… he wasn't foolish or naïve enough to assume he'd survive a true fight.

They needed to find more allies. He wondered where Neirin's guardians were – if they were still alive, or if Taharka had found and killed them. In two years, no news had arisen of anyone resembling the guardians, so it was entirely possible they'd been killed. And, given the number of towns Taharka had razed to the ground, _likely_. He felt an odd pang of loss. He hadn't known the guardians for long, but they represented the kind of safety they weren't likely to have ever again, and for that… he missed them.

He sighed, looking back at the glass… only to realize he was looking at a _face_.

"It's here!" He exclaimed, backing away in surprise. "Over here! The… the Genome! It's here!"

"_She's_ here," Jalen corrected, walking over quickly, Neirin close behind. Kuja honestly couldn't tell the difference; it- _she_ looked rather the same as all of the _other_ Genomes… albeit quite a bit more alive. She was dark-haired and pale, with a dark _tail _curled around her ankle. It was hard to place her age, but Kuja estimated she might be… fifteen? Sixteen? Her eyes were closed, and it was hard to say if she was breathing or not. _Stasis_, Kuja remembered. Jalen looked in at her, frowning. "Well, what say you, Neirin?" He asked. "If we let her out… the log suggests she might die. We'd probably be doing her a kindness to leave her in there."

"Get it out."

Neirin's voice was cold and final, and Jalen looked back, startled. "What? But she'll _die_. We can't just drag her out if she's likely to end up like-"

"_Get it out_." Neirin glared at him, his blue eyes frigid. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's our enemy. We can find out what it knows about Taharka's plans. If it happens to die in the process, it's one less thing to worry about when all is said and done."

Jalen's expression darkened into something almost dangerous, but not quite. "She's not an _it_. She has a soul, if the log didn't lie, so she's just like you or me or Kuja, and you don't get to decide who lives or dies because it's _convenient_ for you, damn you!" He put himself squarely between Neirin and the Genome, as if the king might have rushed to interrupt stasis on his own. "King or not, if you do this, you're no better than Taharka," he added.

"And your option would have _her_ stuck here for all eternity," Neirin snapped. "What kindness is that, I ask you? At least we could find some information."

Kuja found himself siding with Neirin. It was difficult to think of the Genome as being a living creature; it was… well, it was an _it_, really, as far as he was concerned. A creature meant to serve Garland. And Garland was meant to be created only through Neirin's death. How in the world could the king be expected to feel _anything_ toward the Genomes? Jalen hadn't been there that day in the throne room when Taharka had spoken of his _plans_, but _they_ had – he and Neirin. Kuja remembered the smug smile on Taharka's face, and the way he'd seemed so certain that everything was going to go according to plan. He remembered the night the cultists had exploded into the castle, killing everyone in their path. He remembered that terrifying night in Belapest, when all of Taharka's plans could have fallen into place. He remembered everything.

And that was why he reached forward, behind Jalen, and pushed what looked like the button to end the Genome's stasis.

Sure enough, the light dimmed, and the glass opened. Jalen looked behind him, startled and dismayed, before his gaze settled on Kuja. "What did you _do_?" He demanded, despair creeping into his voice. "You've _killed_ her!"

"I am not dead yet." The voice was monotonous, but oddly sweet. All three of them looked at the Genome, who looked back expressionlessly, eying each of them in turn. "You are not my masters," she observed. "I expect they've left by now." She didn't seem troubled by this.

Jalen stepped forward, brushing Kuja aside. "What's your name?" He asked. "I'm Jalen, and this is –"

"Master Taharka believes names are beneath us," the Genome interrupted. "But one of my masters called me 'Sonia.' The others simply called me by my number, as was appropriate, until I received my soul." Kuja realized her eyes had a habit of drifting off to the side, as if she couldn't quite focus them. Too, her head was now tilted at an odd angle. It was rather disconcerting.

Jalen nodded. "Sonia, then. You have a soul?"

"How was this done?" Neirin butted in, stepping up beside Jalen. "You claim to have a soul, but how was it given to you?"

Sonia looked up at him, her head lolling strangely on her shoulder. "In the floating castle, Pandemonium, Master Taharka has a device that controls souls." She lifted a hand, looked at it, then dropped it without doing anything else. "Pandemonium is where the souls gather. Pandemoniummmm." She muttered the word several more times, letting her head loll onto the other shoulder in the process. Kuja took a step back, uncomfortable and ill at ease. "And," she added. "In Pandemonium-um-um, they put me in a chair. I remember a flash. Pop!" She clapped suddenly and her head snapped back up, and the three of them all jumped. "And suddenly I started crying because I could and wanted to, and I wanted to, and I thought and felt because I could." By now, her voice had taken on an odd sing-song quality.

"A chair," Neirin repeated, uncertainly.

"A chair," Sonia repeated. "At the end of the prison, the dungeon, behind cages! He said he could use it to take or change souls, as well well well, and he did it, too. He took my soul." Suddenly she knelt, cradling her head. "He _took_ it, he _took _my _soul_!" She wailed, then looked back up, eyes shimmering with tears. "But he gave it back," she added. "He only took it to prove he could." Sonia paused, then looked at Kuja for a moment. He looked back, uncertain, hoping she'd become distracted by something.

No such luck. "You let me out," she whispered. Her voice had slipped back into the monotone. Kuja hesitated, then nodded; he didn't want to know what she might do if he lied. Sonia stared at him a moment longer. Then, "Oh. I'm going to die, aren't I? My masters said if I woke up, up, I'd be dead, like the others." She looked at Jalen and Neirin. "There were four," she said… holding up five fingers. "Four of us. There was me. And I, I, I was the third. They said I was the best," she added. "Before Master Taharka took my soul. And again and again and again and again." She laughed, and fell over onto her side, curled into a ball.

Jalen knelt beside her, still trying to reach her. "Sonia. What did Taharka do to you? Specifically?"

Sonia was silent for a long time, staring up at Jalen. "_The body becomes a vessel, which greets a new soul,_" she intoned, reaching up and touching the man's face. "I was the best. I was perfect. Master Taharka told me so so so. I was the only perfect one. I got one of the First Souls. The magic souls." She gave a sound that was rather like a choked sob. "And Master Taharka took it from me. And then he gave it back, because he couldn't take it right."

"Couldn't 'take it right?'" Neirin repeated.

Sonia nodded. "The magic souls can't be taken," she whispered. "Only warped. He wanted, wanted, to see what he could warp mine into." She looked at Neirin for a moment. "You have one, too, don't you?" She asked. "One of the magic souls. The First Souls. He wants you." Sonia's eyes widened. "He wants the shepherd to have one of the First Souls. You should go to him." She gave a wicked, cruel little laugh. "Let him take your soul and _warp it_ like mine, like _mine_."

She gasped then, staring at Neirin. Kuja waited for her to say something else, but nothing came.

Jalen sighed, placing his fingers on her throat. After a moment, he shook his head. "She's gone," he said simply, closing her strange eyes. "And probably for the best. She was completely mad."

"Not mad," Neirin said, shaking his head. "_Broken_. Taharka did something to her. What was that about a _chair_ in Pandemonium?"

Jalen shook his head again, still shaken by Sonia's death. "I don't know. How much of what she said can we actually take seriously? She was raving."

Kuja stared at the girl's corpse, finding it difficult to believe that she could be dead when she'd been talking only seconds ago. Still… "He wants the shepherd… Taharka wants Garland to have one of the souls of the First Kings," he murmured. "That makes sense, since he needs magic to power that core of his, but… he can't… he can't control one of those souls, from what she said. He was trying to control her _mind_, and he couldn't." He gestured at Sonia's corpse. "He just made… _that_, instead."

"She wasn't a _that,_" Jalen snapped, standing. "She was a living person, a citizen of Terra, just like you or me. She was created differently, but that's _it_, don't you see?" He gestured down at her. "She was just a tool in Taharka's schemes, just like you-" He pointed at Neirin. "And just like I was. Taharka _used_ her. She's not our enemy, she's just a poor girl who had the misfortune to be crafted into a failing body with a broken mind."

Neirin raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I've seen you this passionate about anything," he murmured quietly.

"I have something of a soft spot for girls," Jalen replied, looking away. "And whatever else she may have been, she was a girl, and she was terrified."

"And now she's dead," Neirin said with such simple finality that even Kuja was shocked. The king turned, and walked toward the platform. "There's nothing else for us here. We need to continue moving."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the crappy ending, but this chapter _would not end_. Next time, we find out what Taharka and the guardians have been up to for the past two years. Finally! Also, so much for the "no one has died in a while" thing.


	17. Old News

**Author's Note:** I'm actually really relieved that this is officially going to be longer. It gives me space to elaborate on what's going on elsewhere in the story – chapters like this one, where I get to poke back at characters who aren't in the main spotlight (granted, this chapter would've been here anyway; it was planned a long time ago). Also, I'm sorry this is largely a filler chapter, but we needed to see what these guys have been up to.  
XitaUnlucky, I don't really have a _death quota, _but the subject material does sort of demand a lot of deaths, doesn't it? And yes, Sonia is a bit… disconcerting (aaaand yeah, my take on the eyes was a little similar to Zidane's, as in "Wait, _what the hell_, those are giant eyes!" Also yes. Kuja enjoys tormenting Jalen. This will not be the last time he does so. Midnight the Black Fox, yeah, Neirin walks a fine line between "occasionally compassionate" and "utterly ruthless," and when dealing with someone he sees as an enemy, he leans a little more toward ruthless. And Pip, I'm glad to hear you're happy about the added length; I have to admit, as much as I complain, I'm happy, too. I really like this story. As for the guardians, let's find out!  
On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Seventeen: Old News**

The man moved carefully through the nighttime gloom, dagger at the ready. He knew his mind hadn't played a trick on him; he'd _seen_ something move in the shadows. Some of the other guards had seen it, as well, but they dismissed it as merely some beast – after all, malboros had been seen prowling in the area lately. This was no malboro, though. He was sure of it. He knew the sound of a malboro: the sickening, slithering sound of tentacles scuffling against the dry earth. And he'd heard footsteps. Real footsteps, moving quietly through the shadows of Mount Gulug. A rare occurrence, these days.

The mountain had gone quiet as a graveyard, now that Taharka had abandoned and sealed it. Supposedly the mountain could only be opened now with his thrice-damned magic-eating stone, the one he'd required the queen's blood to create. The man shuddered despite himself. Alchemy was a black art, one cursed by the All-Seeing Eye. Though he supported Taharka's plans – how could he not, when Terra's restoration was the promised result? – he was unwilling to turn his back on the old beliefs entirely; the belief in the All-Seeing Eye had survived all of Terra's previous cycles, and few things survived so long without merit. Taharka dismissed He-Who-Sees-All as a childish remnant of the past, however, and discarded the old ways without a second thought… and he practiced alchemy. The guard had seen precious little of the art being performed, himself, but he'd seen the results.

The Gulug Stone, which silenced the power of the First Souls, eating magic like a ravenous beast.

The massive energy-storing crystals, designed to eventually power Taharka's massive airships.

And the four mirrors.

No one could say what the mirrors were for, which seemed strange. Taharka was secretive by nature, where his plans were concerned (and few were foolish enough to ask), but often enough _someone _knew something. This was different. No one seemed to know anything about the mirrors, only that they existed: four perfectly circular mirrors set in diamond-shaped frames, with writing on their backs. No one had _read_ this writing, of course, and there was no absolute certainty that the writing existed at all; only very few cultists claimed to have "seen" the writing from a distance. Those who knew of such things speculated that perhaps the mirrors were for use in some ritual, though what ritual that might be… of course, no one could seem to say. And just where were the mirrors now? Presumably hidden away, or carried by Taharka himself. Some people claimed he carried them with him at all times, though the guard rather thought that was absurd; with all of the wandering Taharka did, surely the mirrors would be broken? He shook his head, hoping to shake away his distraction. The mirrors were none of his concern. Eventually, Taharka's purpose would become clear, if only he had faith.

In the meantime, he was growing increasingly uncertain that he'd seen anything at all. He sighed, lowering his dagger. Perhaps it would be best if he simply returned to camp now and stopped dreaming up shadows to chase. It wasn't the first time he'd seen "something" in the shadows, only to find nothing there when he came to search them. But the mountain was so dull now; he wondered why Taharka bothered leaving a standing guard at all. It wasn't as if the prince was going to come _here,_ after all; he'd have to be mad or suicidal or both. Unless he didn't know the ancient volcano housed the cult, that is. By this point, it was hard to imagine _anyone _not knowing about it; Taharka could only ride out and burn a city so many times before it became obvious just where he was riding out _from_.

The guard found himself wondering if one day they'd find an angry citizen mob at the foot of the mountain, preparing to charge in and massacre their absent leader.

Perhaps _that_ was why Taharka left several guards behind.

"I've gone mad," he finally told the shadows, turning to head back toward camp. There were other things to worry about, after all, and there was no call for rustling about after imaginary invaders. This was the _last _time, he assured himself, that he set out in the middle of the night for imaginary-

_Thunk_.

The blade came from behind, from the shadows he'd only just been peering into. It sliced deep into the back of his neck, and he felt his entire lower body fall limp beneath him, even as he struggled for breath. Was he dying? Was he dead already? It was difficult to say. As he sank heavily to the ground, he had the time to see a massive form standing above him, silhouetted against the night sky, featureless and forbidding. The guard tried to lift the dagger in his hand, but his body remained unresponsive – perhaps his spine had been severed. And then, slowly, his vision faded, first into clouds, then into blackness.

And after that, nothing.

"You got caught." The voice was gruff, but not as angry as it might have been. That was a good sign. Elisi stepped out from her hiding spot – a rather small hole in the side of the mountain – and peered up at Tiamat, trying to see his face in the darkness. The guard's torch had gone out when he'd fallen, of course, and she couldn't quite make out her companion's features. That… was a somewhat less than good sign.

She'd gotten messy. She'd been sneaking in and out of the mountain for days now, and never once had she been caught… but tonight, she'd gotten a bit careless; she'd made more noise than she'd have liked. And the guard had noticed. The girl looked down, wincing at the sight of the blood pooling around the man's corpse. _Let's make this as bloodless as possible,_ Kraken had said, patting her shoulder proudly. _Proudly_. And she'd messed up. Now someone was _dead_ because of her. Kraken would be furious… or at least disappointed, which was infinitely worse. Elisi shouldered her makeshift sack – a bit of fabric stitched roughly together – and decided to speak up in her own defense.

"I tried to be quiet," Elisi insisted, while Tiamat wiped the man's blood off of his sword. "I just… wasn't quiet _enough_ this time-"

"You're lucky it was only one guard." Tiamat looked sharply in her direction, and she knew enough to flinch. "And you're unarmed. You were told to carry a blade at all times, girl."

She looked away, hands curling into fists. She'd gotten tired of trying to drag the heavy knife through the tunnels, and it had the unfortunate habit of getting caught on every overhanging rock she encountered. After the second day, she'd decided to leave the blade behind; it was more of a hindrance than a help. Naturally, Elisi hadn't bothered telling anyone she wasn't taking it along… so it was exceptionally fortunate that Tiamat happened to be nearby tonight, when at last a conflict arose.

Almost _too_ fortunate, really.

"You were spying on me," she guessed, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Have you spied every night, I wonder? And why? No faith in me, I assume?"

Tiamat jerked his head toward her usual route down the mountain, and together they set off. "Not always me," he replied, after a long silence. "We've each had our nights. Not so much a lack of faith in you-" He sounded less than sincere, and Elisi scowled. "-As a lack of desire to see you killed on one of our mad ventures. Besides, Kraken wouldn't like it if you died," he added, reaching over and ruffling her short silvery hair. She ducked away, refusing to let her anger subside. They didn't think she could do _anything_! Doubtless they'd only sent her on this mission in the first place because she was the only one small enough to fit into the hole. To think, she'd dared to believe they'd sent her because they thought she was honestly the best for the job!

"I could've taken him," she muttered, shifting her sack to the other shoulder. "You know I could've," she added, a note of challenge in her voice.

"True." He nodded, which lifted her spirits a bit – but only a bit. "You're fair enough with a blade. But you weren't armed."

Elisi's temper flared. "I don't _need_ a blade," she snapped, sliding into one of the combat poses Maliris had taught her. "I'm-"

Tiamat's hand came seemingly out of nowhere, catching her on the side of her jaw. It was only a slap, not the punch she'd anticipated, but it threw her to the ground, nonetheless. She blinked, dazed and winded. "You," Tiamat said calmly, "Are not nearly as competent as you think you are." He reached down, hoisting her unceremoniously to her (unsteady) feet. "Are you good? Yes. Good enough? Not nearly. Two years' training doesn't make you a master." He released her, and she teetered unsteadily, still a bit dizzy. Tiamat snorted, amused. "Yeah, you're the master of your body alright. Shake off the stars, girl, they'll be wondering where we are."

The rest of the walk down the mountain was relatively silent; Elisi had no further desire to be reduced to a pathetic little girl.

"What _happened?_" Kraken's voice was sharp, and Elisi looked up, confused. The woman rushed over, cupping her face with one hand, turning it toward the light. "Were you attacked?" Kraken demanded, looking toward Tiamat almost anxiously. It was then that Elisi realized she likely had a budding bruise on her cheek; Tiamat had certainly hit her hard enough. She glanced at Tiamat, wondering what he might say… only to catch a glimpse of the man's rather embarrassed expression only seconds before he looked away. It was enough to make her burst into peals of laughter, only to be quickly silenced by Kraken – they couldn't afford the guards deciding to circle around the mountain; their camp was almost laughably obvious.

Maliris looked up from her seat by the campfire, where she was preoccupied with poking at whatever they'd prepared for a meal. "Looks like you found something." With her knife, she pointed to the sack Elisi carried. "Don't keep us in suspense."

_Oh_. She'd forgotten about the bag.

Elisi grinned, setting the bag down and tugging it open. "Plans," she said happily, pulling out several dozen sheets of parchment. "Plans for Genomes, plans for airships, plans for Garland. And," she added, pulling out the last of her discoveries, "This is a signed agreement between Taharka and a group of mercenaries."

"Mercenaries?" Tiamat grabbed the parchment from her hand, kneeling by the fire to read it. The other two (Lich was nowhere to be seen; presumably, he was asleep in one of the tents) watched intently, waiting to hear what the agreement had to say. Elisi remained respectfully silent. _Let them read it for themselves,_ she thought, steeling her own restraint. They weren't going to like it. "…Hired to bring the prince to Taharka," Tiamat muttered, tossing the parchment into the fire. Elisi watched it burn somewhat regretfully; she'd worked _hard_ for that, dammit. "Two years ago. This… is not good. It's not news we oughtta be late to."

"At least it's news." Maliris prodded their dinner some more, scowling at the parchment curling and blackening beneath the pot. The snake tattoo on her face was marred by a rather nasty scar she'd received some time ago, and the scar made the snake look even angrier. "First goddamn news we've had in ages. It'd be fantastic if it gave us some kind of direction to start searching in-"

Elisi looked up. "What about those murders in Astrula?"

"Four unidentified men." Tiamat frowned, recalling the old news. "And there was that avalanche that buried that mountain village… I thought nothing of it, but…"

"You think Neirin did all of that?" Kraken reclaimed her seat by the fire, and her dark eyes glowed with the firelight. "If he did, it might give us a direction, but…" She sighed. "Two years. _Two years_ to make this connection; who knows where he's gone to now? We must've passed through Astrula at least twice, with no sight of him."

"Or Kuja." Elisi's voice was quiet.

Tiamat gave a mirthless laugh. "Like as not, the murders in Astrula might've been the mercenaries. But the request was for a five-man band." He gestured toward the burned parchment. "So where's the fifth? Still on the hunt, like as not." He finally took a seat, and Elisi sat, as well – just outside the ring of firelight. "If we're right, he was in Astrula two years ago. So where the blazes would he have gone _after _that?"

No one had an answer. Kraken looked up at the mountain, dark and silent in the night sky, and sighed. "I don't suppose there's any chance Taharka would know. …No, if he did, he'd already _have _Neirin by now." She reached for some of the other documents Elisi had managed to find – the plans for Garland. These were much more detailed than the drawings Taharka had displayed before the throne; these described the entire process thoroughly. "The man is a monster," she muttered, setting the grisly documents aside. The bastard had even gone to the trouble of drawing Garland to look rather a lot like Neirin; _that_ disturbed her more than she would have liked. "So." She looked around at her fellow guardians, and beyond them, to Elisi. "We've been in and out of that mountain for several days now. You saw nothing else of value?"

"It looks as if he's taken most things with him." Elisi shook her head. "Nothing else is of value, or at the very least, nothing I can carry out."

"Then we'd best leave," Maliris said, a bit of life filling her voice again, which made Elisi a bit happier. Maliris had been horribly depressed for several months now, ever since the battle that had left her scarred. The red-haired woman stood, as if she intended to set out then and there. "But where to? We have two-year-old news and not a whole hell of a lot else."

Tiamat and Kraken glanced at each other, obviously weighing their own answers against those of the other. Kraken spoke first. "We should try Astrula again. The trail might've gone cold, but if there's any trail to be had at all, it's worth finding."

_Astrula again,_ Elisi thought, closing her eyes. _I'll find you eventually, Kuja. And when I find you, I'll never let you out of my sight again – I'll keep you safe this time, I promise._

xxx

"You're sure of this?"

"Yes, Master Taharka." The man nodded, smiling proudly. "Two dragons flew from Astrula not two days past. We apprehended the stablehand and extracted the information – he swears there were a silver-haired man and child, matching the prince's description."

Taharka didn't trouble himself with asking _how_ his followers had "extracted" the information; it wasn't important. The information _itself_, though… _Astrula!_ He hadn't even considered it; he'd believed it to be too large of a city for Neirin to risk, and too unimportant to eliminate. A trade city on the far edge of the map, too far out of the way to provide sanctuary to anyone seeking to flee from the cities he silenced. But if this information was reliable, then perhaps he'd found Neirin at last. Or, at the very least, his trail. As for that useless Jalen… well. If Neirin remained alive and free, it seemed likely Jalen and his men had been killed. Taharka found himself unconcerned; they were five fewer people he'd have to execute when all was said and done.

"You have my gratitude." He dismissed the cultist, then turned to survey his work: the port town of Jaranesa, now reduced to ashes. Several of his men were busy shoving the corpses into the ocean, while others executed the survivors they'd managed to catch. Other men were already dumping toxins on the land around the city; still more were releasing malboro hatchlings to further hasten the land's decay. _All is proceeding according to plan_. He smiled, looking toward the sky. He supposed he'd have to destroy Astrula next; it was no longer quite as harmless as he'd believed it to be… but he'd have to leave that task to his followers.

_He_ had to seek out Neirin.

"And where would you go?" He asked the air, eyes skimming the clouds as if he thought to see dragons overhead at any moment. "Where else _could_ you go?" He wished he'd thought to ask the man which direction the dragons had flown. There were only so many cities surrounding Astrula, and many of them were gone now, fallen to Taharka. Those that remained were loyal to _him_, and would be among the last to fall.

_Lisre?_ The cultist frowned, wondering. News had spread of the city's destruction by now, he was certain. Would Neirin be curious enough to risk pausing at Lisre?

_The Genome_. Taharka's heart skipped a beat. _The Genome is still in the Archae. _She was the last of her kind, albeit utterly broken; Taharka might have destroyed her himself had he not thought to keep her for the sake of her soul. Her fractured, warped soul – _that _troubled him. He'd been overjoyed when at last they were able to animate a Genome with one of the First Kings' souls; it was rare enough for a _ruler _to be born with one of the so-called "magic souls," let alone a Genome. She'd received one of the weaker souls, where power was concerned, but that was of no great worry to Taharka – she had one of the souls he required, and that was progress enough. She was sharp-witted and clever, the Genome they called 'Sonia;' she managed to best some of his wiser followers at games of logic and luck. She learned quickly. She developed more quickly than her common-souled brethren, all of whom died quickly and early.

Taharka thought she was perfect.

And then he broke her.

It was a test, a simple test. He'd performed it on the other souled Genomes, using the 'mind-control' device he'd created using the technology in Pandemonium. In the other Genomes, it worked easily enough: one round left the soul clinging only tenuously to the body, leaving the subject disoriented and uncharacteristically moody; two rounds stripped the soul of free will; three rounds reduced them to a hollow vessel once more. And then a new soul could be bestowed easily, letting it fill the empty vessel like water in a vase. There were no complications with the common souls, and Taharka had assumed the same would be true of the First Souls.

He was wrong.

The first round had proceeded as planned – 'Sonia' was dazed and angry; she'd managed to kill one unfortunate cultist who had attempted to soothe her. The second, though… rather than being reduced to a puppet, Sonia had only grown angrier and more and more confused, flying into a rage that left the test room destroyed. They had moved the equipment to the dungeon, where there was less to destroy… and no chance of Sonia escaping, as she tried so terrifyingly hard to do. By the time the equipment had been moved, the Genome had calmed down a great deal, though she was in no way the girl the technicians had grown so fond of. Taharka felt that was for the best.

The third round left Sonia screaming in pain, curled into a ball at the foot of the chair. They hadn't managed to remove her soul at all, though Taharka realized – with no small amount of terror, he had to confess – that they had _fractured _her soul. Something was broken within her, and he hadn't been entirely certain he could mend it.

He'd tried. Several times.

Over and over, he'd attempted to replace her soul. He tried removing it again, for he believed if he could take it properly, it would be mended and could be restored again. Instead, her soul had become more and more broken, and when at last Taharka had given up, the girl was reduced to little more than rambling madness. Worse, her body had begun to show the same signs of decay that her fellows had displayed, brought on by the death of Terra itself. Taharka had ordered her sealed away in the Archae, hoping he could study her again later… or at least attempt to fix her mind.

It didn't bode well for his chances of controlling Neirin. But he _needed_ the sort of magic the First Kings' souls commanded, and if the mother was any indication, Neirin held one of the stronger souls. And as he matured, that power would only _grow_. Taharka needed that sort of power. _Garland _needed that sort of power.

He would worry about that when the time came, when Neirin was firmly in his grasp.

For now, he had to journey to Archae One.

He had to see to it that his last Genome was untouched.

Neirin could wait a while longer.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, Taharka, I've got some bad news...

**OTHER NOTE: **I start school next week, and my schedule this semester is a _bitch_, so if my update schedule becomes… less than reliable, that's why! I'm going to try to have a backlog just in case I do get swallowed by classes, but just in case, I wanted to let everyone know.


	18. Fortunate Sickness

**Author's Note:** I apologize in advance: this chapter is both short _and_ serves mainly to segue into the _next _chapter. I didn't get to write the backlog I'd been hoping to write prior to this, so I may in fact fall behind on my posting schedule. Regardless, I promise to at least once a week, on Tuesday if I can possibly manage it.  
XitaUnlucky, I'm glad you like Elisi! She was a character I had plans for early on, and I'm glad they're working out (for a while, I was worried I wouldn't be able to work all of it in – the longer setup for the story will allow for a lot more expansion on it). Also yes, the mind and soul control mentioned in the last two chapters _was_, in fact, the same thing Garland used on Zidane in Pandemonium! Good catch there. Clement Rage, _yes,_ I am so happy I'm finally tying things in from the game! I've been waiting so long and setting everything up, and now it's finally all coming together. I did say the fic was based as closely on canon as I could manage, and that's what I've been trying for the entire time. Thanks for noticing! Pip, we'll catch up with Taharka either in the next chapter or the one after it, depending on how long the next one gets. And I'm glad to know you're not going anywhere! And last but not least, WiREP, welcome to the fic! I enjoyed all of your reviews and speculation, and you'll have to wait 'til the end to find out how many of them were true.

On with the (short) chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Eighteen: Fortunate Sickness**

Kuja had nightmares three days after they left Archae One.

He dreamed first that he was back in Traje, only this time, the city was engulfed by flames. At first, he thought he knew what he was doing; he found a sure path through the fire, and it seemed as if the fire ahead cleared a path _for_ him, as if to encourage him to escape. But then, slowly but surely, he began to realize he was going in circles, and worse, the fire was drawing closer and closer. The city around him changed, as well, shifting first into Bran Bal, then to Astrula, then to Lisre, then Traje again. The fire had led him into a trap, and somewhere beyond the steadily advancing wall of flames, he thought he heard Taharka laughing.

After he woke from that dream, he fell into one in which he and Neirin were once again climbing together over the mountains. But the mountains never ended, and they walked on forever, until at last they froze to death where they stood.

And after that, he dreamed of Sonia, the dead Genome. In the dream, she never spoke; she simply stared at him, unblinking and without emotion, like the eyes that lined the streets of the Archae. Kuja called out to her again and again, for try as he might he could not reach her, yet she never called back. She simply stared. He tried turning away from her, only to find her standing anywhere he chose to turn; he couldn't escape her. The scent of death lingered on the air, and it grew stronger as the dream progressed, until he was choking on it; until it was all he breathed. And then he _couldn't _breathe. The boy choked, clawing at his throat, staring in horror at Sonia, who simply stared back, somber and unflinching, uncaring, unfeeling…

"Kuja? Kuja!"

He was shaken awake, and he coughed frantically, drawing in breath as if he hadn't inhaled in years. But the pain of suffocation lingered in his chest, and he felt hot, as if the fire from his nightmares hadn't yet vanished. Kuja groaned, covering his eyes with one arm. His head pounded. Why was it so hot? Or was it cold? He lowered his arm, blinking blearily up at what he assumed to be Neirin – as far as he could tell, it was a vague silvery blur some distance above him. And then there was a cool hand on his face, and he closed his eyes, relishing what little relief it gave him.

"He's feverish." That was Neirin's voice. It sounded like it was coming from some distance away, and Kuja tried to open his eyes again, but found he was so much more comfortable with them closed.

And then, from even further away: "…Caught something in the Archae, mayhap?" Jalen. Kuja groaned and rolled onto his side, trying to gather the strength to get to his feet. They had to get moving, after all; they'd only managed to get a short distance away from Lisre and the Archae in the three days they'd been flying, and they couldn't afford to stay much longer. They'd only landed the previous night to rest the dragons' wings – the beasts had been flying slowly on their weary wings, having been forced to fly nonstop without any chances to hunt for days. Neirin and Jalen had decided to land the instant they came across what _looked_ like relatively fertile land, and they'd turned the dragons loose to hunt for the night. And Kuja, well… he'd been feeling poorly since the previous day, but of course he hadn't troubled Neirin with it; there were more important things to worry about.

He rose weakly to his feet, pausing only briefly when the world began to spin. "I'm well enough," he mumbled, trying to sound brave. Even to his own ears, the protest sounded weak and insincere, and Neirin opened his mouth to say something against it.

Kuja never heard it.

His vision blurred, his knees went weak, and suddenly the ground rushed up to meet him.

After that, he heard, felt, and saw nothing.

xxx

There was a staleness to the air that was uncustomary for the outdoors, but it hung over Terra like a fog. Many people on the mother continent speculated that it had a great deal to do with whatever Taharka had done to poison the land, or perhaps that it had something to do with the toxins produced by the malboros and their ilk – toxins that poisoned water sources and crop-bearing fields; why not the air, as well? People went hungry, unable to find food or water, and worse: many fell dangerously ill. The source of the illness was assumed to be the very air itself, poisoned by Taharka's steady advance across the mother continent, leaving only a barren wasteland in his wake.

Cities, even those that survived Taharka's assault, crumbled. The survivors became vagrants, wandering without purpose, without cause, without a destination. Many died on the road, either from wounds sustained in the attacks, starvation, or in many tragic cases, suicide. Children were often smothered in their sleep, spared from the worst of the horrors the world now had to offer.

Terra was falling.

The decline was underway.

xxx

He slid in and out of consciousness, catching only brief wisps of conversation. Occasionally he realized they were moving; other times he knew nothing of where they were or where they were going. Sometimes he woke to find himself hanging limply in a dragon's harness, with the dim land sailing by beneath them. Strangely enough, he found he wasn't quite as troubled by the flight as he typically was: his body felt completely apart from his mind. And then he'd slip into darkness again, and when he woke again, he no longer knew where they were.

It was terrifying.

"We'll stop here." Jalen's voice caught his ear, and he moaned painfully, trying to rouse himself from his fever dreams. He was lifted from the harness – they were on the ground, then, he supposed – and lowered to the ground, which was hard and barren beneath him. How far from the Archae had they flown? How long had he been ill?

He lifted his head, trying to peer around, but he saw only darkness. "Where…?"

"Save your strength." Neirin's voice was nearby, but Kuja couldn't see him. "You've been unconscious for four days."

_Four days_. Kuja reached up and touched his forehead; it was still warm. He dropped his hand, and it splashed into a puddle. Surprised, he withdrew his hand. Where the hell _were_ they? And why couldn't he see anything? Had the fever left him _blind_?

"We're in a cave," Neirin explained, and from somewhere behind him, a small light blazed forth. Magefire. Kuja winced painfully, covering his eyes as his head exploded into agony. The light dimmed, then flickered out. "I suppose you're not ready for light yet." No. No, he was not, but at the very least, he knew he wasn't blind.

Footsteps. "He's awake?" That was Jalen's voice. Kuja tried opening his eyes again, and failed. He tried again. His head and body ached, but he would sooner die than appear weak before Jalen; he'd spent long enough semi-conscious before the idiotic mercenary. _Pull yourself together,_ he ordered himself, and he managed to pull himself to a sitting position. Jalen watched, shaking his head. "Stubborn little bastard, aren't you?"

"Leave him be." Neirin sounded tired. "Let him rest. Let _me_ rest."

Kuja leaned against a cool stone wall. "Where… are we?"

"In one of the worst places we could possibly be," Jalen replied merrily, and Kuja heard him sit down somewhere nearby. The dragons snorted somewhere in the darkness, and he swore at them. "We're just a day or two south of Mount Gulug. I suspect Taharka's abandoned the mountain to focus on the development of his Genomes – if the ones in Lisre failed, he likely wants to see to it that they're perfected when the time comes for their grand debut. Our almighty king-" There was a touch of mockery in his voice. "-Wants to see what we can find in the mountain."

Kuja suspected he ought to be outraged or terrified, but found he could be neither. It cost too much effort. "I don't want to go to Mount Gulug," he said simply, in lieu of an actual protest.

"We won't be there for long." Neirin sounded offended. Kuja found he couldn't care. "If Taharka isn't there, we may as well learn all we can-"

Jalen cut him off. "And if he _is_, you're only walking into a trap."

"This was _your_ suggestion," Neirin snapped. "You're the one who commented that Taharka wouldn't be at the mountain."

"And after this you'll suggest _Pandemonium!_" Jalen's voice rose, and Kuja winced as pain lanced across his skull. This shouting was doing nothing for his head. Still, the two of them went on shouting for quite some time, until Kuja no longer knew or cared what they were fighting about. _Please just be quiet, _he thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. _Please just stop._ Their voices echoed off of the cavern walls and within his skull, until it sounded as if there were hundreds of people shouting, all angry, all at once. He groaned, lying on his side, curling into himself.

"_Silence! _Speak your names!" A new voice sliced through the shouting – a female voice. Neirin and Jalen fell silent immediately, and Kuja opened his eyes, his heart throbbing hard and heavy. _We've been found,_ he thought, terrified. _And all because these two idiots couldn't keep themselves from going at each other's throats…_

Neirin recovered first. "Speak your own," the king said flatly, with no trace of the fear he must have felt. Kuja reached out blindly, trying to determine where Neirin was. His hand grazed Neirin's, and the king flinched back… but then the hand returned, and caught his own, squeezing gently. _We might die here,_ that squeeze said. _And I'm sorry._

There was a moment of silence.

"A smart one, aren't you?" There was mockery in the woman's voice. Kuja listened; he thought he heard more people. He felt tears stinging his eyes, though he couldn't say why. Unless it was Taharka himself, it seemed unlikely it was a problem Jalen and Neirin couldn't face together. Still, perhaps it was the suddenness of the situation, or the stupidity of it: they never ought to have been caught like this in the first place. "Well, let me ask you a question, smart one," the woman asked mildly. "To whom do you owe your loyalty: to the crown, or to Taharka?"

Her voice was unreadable. Neirin's grip on Kuja's hand tightened. "What crown?" Neirin asked, and his voice held steady. "The crown was lost when the royal city fell."

"The prince lives," the woman replied. "And Taharka seeks him. Where do your loyalties lie?"

"There is no prince," Neirin replied. "The prince… was lost in Astrula."

There was a collective gasp, and then the woman asked, less steadily, "You… how do you know this? What did you see?"

"Perhaps I'll tell you," Neirin replied, and Kuja heard a smile in the king's voice. "If you tell me who you are. And where _your_ loyalties lie," he added.

The woman audibly snarled. "Too smart for your own good," she snapped. "We were the guardians of the crown prince, and whatever passed in Astrula, we've a right to hear it for ourselves. Speak. We might even let you live in exchange for the information."

Neirin rose to his feet, releasing Kuja's hand. Kuja stared, disregarding his headache, into the darkness. Could it be? _Here_, of all places?

"…Maliris?" Neirin's voice shook, and he took a step forward, his feet scuffling against the rocks. "And the rest of you, as well?" The others were silent, likely just as stunned as they were, themselves… if indeed they'd caught on yet. There was a quiet crackle, and the small cavern was illuminated by a sudden burst of magefire. The light made Kuja's head pulse, but he forced himself to take in the sight: the four guardians, standing in the mouth of the cavern, looking weary and abused – but there, nonetheless. Maliris stared, wide-eyed, at Neirin, as if she hadn't quite allowed herself to accept that he was there at all. Her face and neck were horribly scarred, but beyond that, she was the same Maliris Kuja remembered – as were the other three.

"Neirin… it's you," Lich breathed, falling to his knees. "He-Who-Sees-All be praised, we were sure you were dead."

Maliris shook off her awe. "I'm still not convinced he's not," she said shakily. "What's this business about 'the prince was lost in Astrula?'"

Neirin smiled brilliantly, throwing his arms out as if to present himself. "I was coroneted," he announced grandly. "By High Priest Zenabri of the Temple of the Eye in Astrula. Over a week ago, by now," he added. "Had Kuja not fallen ill, we'd be-"

"Kuja?" A young woman's voice cut in, and from behind the guardians, a white-haired young woman pushed forward. Kuja stared at her for a moment, wondering if perhaps he was delirious… and then he recognized her: a face from the past, a face he'd all but forgotten.

_Elisi!

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **Oh god school is killing me please send help.


	19. The Decay of Our Terra

**Author's Note:** Yes, it _is_ a long chapter. Hell yes. And I didn't even have to stay up late this time!

Blacktepes, welcome to the fic! And I did do an extra long chapter this time, so no books to the face for me. XitaUnlucky, Kuja is actually quite lucky (to the surprise of no one who's been reading this fic), as we see in this chapter. And thank you; school has been killing me lately, and I'm only one week in. Midnight the Black Fox, Kuja is already getting well. c: He's pretty stubborn about feeling better. Pip, thank you for sending the flying monkeys; they were a big help! Also the answer is most definitely something _ELSE,_ but he's lucky in this as in all things. WiREP, don't feel obligated to write an essay review every chapter! Not that I don't enjoy reading them, of course; I like questions and speculation, it lets me know if I'm steering things in the right direction.  
On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Nineteen: The Decay of Our Terra**

Though he wanted nothing so much as to find out what Elisi had been doing for all of this time, Kuja's attention was required elsewhere. At the mention of illness, Lich's face had collapsed from relieved joy to unrepressed terror, and the man had gotten back to his feet and rushed to Kuja's side in an instant. In the dim light of Neirin's fire, the older man looked even more gaunt than he had two years ago, and his skin was leathery, pulled tight across his skull. He reached out and laid two fingers against the side of Kuja's neck, holding them there for a moment. Kuja felt his own pulse throbbing against the fingers, and wondered what it meant; what Lich sought. The guardian lifted his hand to Kuja's forehead and temples. His hands were cool against Kuja's skin, and the boy sighed – it was, at least, a small relief.

After a moment, Lich sighed and rose back to his feet. "The worst of the fever has broken. He'll live." A wry grin twisted his face, and he peered down at Kuja. The shadows cast by the magefire concealed his features, making a smirking skull out of his face. "God-touched, indeed. Do you know how many have been killed by this very illness, if indeed it _is_ what I suspect it to be?"

"You mean to say this is widespread?" For the first time, Jalen spoke up. All eyes swiveled toward him; no one had thought to take any notice of him. The mercenary returned their gaze, smiling faintly. "I am called Jalen," he explained by way of not explaining at all. "And my presence is less important than the information you could be delivering at this moment."

Tiamat continued to eye Jalen suspiciously, but Lich dubbed him unimportant, returning his attention to Neirin. "An illness, yes. I trust you've seen how toxic the land has become?" At Neirin's nod, he continued. "'Tis not only the land that suffers. The water, the animals, the air itself… Terra is in her death throes, as Taharka wished." The guardian settled himself down on a boulder near the two dragons, which were both sleeping soundly. Lich didn't seem especially concerned. "The illness seems to be either airborne or in the water; it's difficult to say. Perhaps it's spread by the malboros. Regardless, it's known to be contagious. Children are more susceptible," he added, gesturing toward Kuja. "But it's a wonder neither of you fell ill, close as you've been." He eyed Neirin, frowning. "With your permission, I'd like to examine you for signs of the illness, Your High-" He caught himself, then shook his head. "Your _Majesty,_ I suppose."

Over the course of the next few hours, the past two years were unraveled. The guardians told a marvelous tale of traveling throughout the mother continent, scouring the dying cities for any sign that Neirin had passed through. Kraken explained how she'd set about training Elisi, and how after they'd joined Tiamat and Maliris, the two of _them _had seen fit to teach the girl, as well.

"She has a fair amount of raw talent with magic, as well," Lich said rather loudly. The words were directed at Neirin, but his gaze fell squarely on Kraken, who returned a dangerous look of her own. Lich continued. "And she might be a fair hand at it, as well, if I were only given the chance to _teach_ her-"

"Absolutely _not_," Kraken snapped, and from her seat beside the shivering, achy Kuja, Elisi rolled her eyes and leaned closer to the boy.

"She's afraid he'll persuade me to fall in love with him," she whispered, giggling like the Elisi he remembered. "Apparently he prefers younger women, and I'll come of age soon enough."

Elisi _was_ older. She was no longer the gangly, smiling girl he'd known at the castle. She was harder and softer at the same time: her body curved in new ways, and she'd cut her hair nearly all away, giving her an almost sprite-like appearance. There were shadows in her eyes, though – the same shadows Kuja sometimes thought he saw in Neirin's eyes, like reflections of things that had never quite faded away. He wondered what sort of horrors she'd seen as they crossed Terra. He had seen only the smallest of the impacted areas, after two sheltered years in Astrula. Elisi… perhaps Elisi had seen the entire continent, and what had been done to it. Perhaps that explained the shadows, and how sunken-in her face looked in the firelight.

After a moment, she smiled. "You're staring." He flushed and looked away, which only made her laugh. "Never fear, I'm not angry. I'm sure I look different. So do you."

_Me?_ Kuja looked down at his own hands, which still shook from the fever. How could _he _have changed without his noticing? He supposed he was just a bit taller, but that was normal, and that was all of it, wasn't it?

"You're older than you used to be," Elisi pointed out, and he stared at her again.

"Of course I am," he said bluntly. "It's been two years, hasn't it?"

She pulled her long legs against her chest, resting her chin on her knees. "Not like that. You were always a tad old for your age, but now…" Silence settled between them, and Elisi picked restlessly at a scar on her leg. Kuja was left to wonder where she'd gotten it, and what sort of adventures she'd been having while he was sealed away in a temple. "You've seen a lot, haven't you?" She asked, at the precise moment in which he was wondering the same thing. She glanced up, her eyes bright with what looked like…

"Are you crying?" He asked stupidly, but it made her laugh, nonetheless.

"I might be," she replied, wiping her eyes roughly with the heel of her hands. "It's just that in my memory, you've always just been… _you,_ the one I remember from that night in Traje. But you… you've _changed_, haven't you? You're practically older than I am. All of this time, I've thought to find you and protect you, but you're a hero in your own right."

He looked away, his face growing hot. He was no _hero_; he'd only been lucky enough to do the right things at the right times, no more. "Neirin and Jalen are more heroic than I am."

"They're kings and warriors." Elisi's voice lowered to a whisper, so as not to be overheard by the others, who were engaged in deep conversations of their own. "They're _supposed_ to write incredible stories, aren't they? That's who you always hear about in the old stories – you always hear about the First Kings and their Beasts of Chaos, never the peasants who helped them along the way. But you, Kuja, _you_… you'll be part of a song one day, I just know it." Her eyes glittered in the darkness, and strange though it seemed, Kuja thought perhaps he believed her.

xxx

Morning came, and with it came another argument. There was some debate as to where they ought to go and how they ought to get there. The guardians had been traveling on foot following the death of their final horse, and the dragons couldn't carry all eight of them, yet Neirin refused to simply turn the dragons loose and continue on foot. It made sense, of course; none of them doubted for a moment that _Taharka_ wasn't traveling on foot; he likely had a horse if not a dragon of his own. On foot, in such a large group, they made for a clear target: they'd likely be killed before they got far at all.

Still, the guardians weren't keen on the idea of leaving Neirin behind, not after they'd only just found him again.

Kuja and Elisi watched the argument, more than a little bemused. Kuja felt immeasurably better, though he still wasn't quite entirely recovered, or so Lich said, at any rate. He was told he was no longer "contagious," a word Kuja didn't quite understand, though apparently it meant he was allowed to venture near Neirin again – Lich had been oddly prickly about that the night before, and none of the others had spoken against it. As a result, he'd been banished to the far side of the cavern, away from where everyone else had slept.

Regardless of what "contagious" meant (and he intended to find out, as soon as possible), he was pleased to find that his exile was over in the morning, though he hadn't yet had the chance to speak to Neirin. The king had become immediately wrapped up in his quarrel with the guardians, and Jalen quickly got _himself_ caught up in the discussion (no one had yet explained to the guardians exactly _how_ Jalen had come to be traveling with them; Kuja was rather surprised the question hadn't come up yet). Had it not been for Elisi's presence, Kuja might have found himself incredibly lonely.

"This could all be solved rather quickly," Elisi mused, then called over to their gathered companions. "Why don't I go with the king and his attendants?"

They looked back at her, their expressions an odd assortment of annoyance, surprise, and interest.

"Elisi." Kraken took a step toward her pupil. Her expression was unreadable. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I know enough," Elisi replied, taking a step of her own. "I've taken your training to heart. I'm _ready_. And I'm light enough to share a dragon with that one," she added, jerking her head toward Jalen, who smiled in a way Kuja wasn't sure he liked. "This is what I've been training for, isn't it? To protect?"

Kraken sighed heavily, folding her arms over her chest. "To protect _yourself,_" she replied, a touch of exasperation creeping into her voice. "And you're nowhere _near_ proficient."

"I could train her," Jalen spoke up, still smiling that feline smile. Kuja liked it even less. "I'm the best I know in a fight, and she wouldn't be the first I've taught. Besides, the best learning is done on the battlefield, and if there's one thing we can be sure of in the days to come, it's that there will be a great many battlefields."

Maliris pushed forward then, shoving Jalen aside. "This is all ridiculous," she spat, looking around at all of them. "Look at us, squabbling like children. Is it any wonder Taharka is winning? You shut up," she said sharply, glaring at Tiamat, who had begun to speak. "I'm right and you all know it. So _shut up_. What we need now is some damn progress." She whirled, turning her fiery gaze on Neirin, who had the grace to flinch. "You, your royal goddamn majesty, are going to stay right _here_ with Lich and myself, where we can keep our eyes on you for the first time in two _years_. As for the rest of you-" She whirled again, and the rest of them took a step back. It made her sneer. "Oh, stop it; I'm not gonna bite your heads off, though it'd likely do you a world of good. The lot of you are going to take these dragons, travel back to Astrula, garner up some dragons, and get back here. God willing, we'll still be here when you get back."

"Why the children?" Tiamat asked, jerking his head toward Elisi and Kuja. Kuja was accustomed to being called a child, but Elisi bristled. Tiamat didn't seem to notice. "Just the two of us ought to be enough-"

"You'll be bringing back four dragons," Elisi replied, folding her arms over her chest in a manner uncannily similar to Kraken. "And we _children_ will be necessary to fly two of them, won't we?"

_Fly._

Kuja's heart stopped, and he swayed on his feet. He didn't _know_ how to fly his own dragon. He didn't _want_ to know. "Couldn't you… send Lich instead?" He disliked the pleading tone his voice took, but he couldn't help it. "I don't know _how_ to fly my own dragon."

"You'll learn." Maliris's voice was flat and final, and despite his terror, Kuja knew better than to argue. Instead, he looked at Elisi, who shrugged.

"I don't know how to fly, either," she admitted.

It brought him very little comfort.

xxx

He knew something was amiss the moment he reached the Archae. The dust around the city was disturbed, marred by dragons' steps, and there were further footsteps leading into the city itself. _Three_ sets of footsteps, he noted, but the implications eluded him for the time being; there were more important matters to see to. Taharka made his way into the city, ignoring the eyes' gaze upon him. He'd passed the eyes innumerable times before, and had paid them little enough attention; he paid them even less now. The tower was before him, stark against the sickly grey sky.

Taharka was seldom given to belief in omens, but the sky did little to soothe his fears.

He had not known fear for a great long while, not while everything was moving smoothly in his favor. He'd lost Neirin's trail, true enough, but that was of no great concern: the prince would turn up eventually. Too, he'd lost track of the mercenaries he'd hired, and in all likelihood Jalen and his men were dead. That was of no account; the mercenaries had been useless and distracting. The Genomes had failed, as well, but Taharka believed he understood why: he'd intended for Garland to be finished and functional by the time the Genomes were fully developed, and he'd expected Terra to have merged with the new planet, Gaia. Things were merely… behind schedule. Had the Genomes been born to a Terra revitalized by the newborn Gaia, they would have survived; when the process was at last complete, they _would_ survive.

The thought that the only Genome to have been granted one of the First Souls might have been destroyed… _that_ frightened him.

That _terrified_ him.

Sonia. They called her Sonia. It was a foolish business, names; once Garland ruled Terra, the immortal Genomes would have no need of such mortal requirements as _names_; they would be higher beings altogether. But his apprentices called her _Sonia_. Or had she named herself? Taharka couldn't recall now; some of the souled Genomes had given themselves names, and others had allowed themselves to be named. Others went nameless, as was appropriate. But she was _Sonia_, the only Sonia among them, the only one to _look_ unique among the Genomes: where the others were fair-haired, her hair had grown dark; where the others had green-grey eyes, hers were bright and blue; where the others were of hardy stock, she had grown tall and slender. Taharka had no explanation for this, only that it must be the effects of her unique soul. She'd been quick with her wit, quick to laugh and tease, and slow to anger. He recalled reading reports that she grew moody when one of her brethren died, which grew increasingly frequent as time went on.

Sonia. She must still be alive. Taharka reached the tower at last. Nothing could have prepared him for the crush of disappointed horror that weighed down on him when he realized that the door stood open: _someone _had been inside of the tower.

_That means little enough,_ he convinced himself. _They would have required the elevator._

After taking a moment to draw on his strength, he forced himself to enter the building; to stand on the elevator. It reacted, raising him higher and higher. He hardly required it to raise him the entire way, however. By the time he reached the third floor, he could _smell_ it: the scent of decay, the scent that had become so common in Lisre.

Taharka had been prepared for rage.

He hadn't prepared himself for the overwhelming sense of loss.

The elevator came to a stop on the top floor, and there, lying beside the pod she'd been sealed in, was Sonia. Were it not for the scent and the discoloration of her fair skin, Taharka might have believed her to be merely sleeping. He stood beside the elevator for a long moment, simply staring at her, willing her to rise again; willing her to be _perfect_ again, unbroken by all of his attempts to control her soul. She hadn't _needed_ to be controlled. She'd been perfect.

Slowly, like a wounded man, he walked toward her corpse. Yes, there was discoloration on the side of her face where it had rested against the floor. Yes, her skin had turned unnaturally pale. Yes, her eyes were flat beneath her eyelids.

Yes, she was dead.

The cultist knelt beside her, lifting one of her small hands. She had been _perfect_. A First King's soul, tucked into the body of a Genome: something he hadn't thought to be possible. And he had fractured it. Who was to say what damage had been permanently done to that soul? Could it ever be repaired? Did it matter? If it _could_ be mended, Sonia was still dead, and no amount of manipulation would restore her. Taharka wrapped his own hand around Sonia's, unprepared for how fragile and cold it was.

Her body had been failing. There was no pretending otherwise: her body had been failing, rejecting itself, unable to survive on a dying Terra. Perhaps it was a mercy that she'd been allowed to die like this, and perhaps it was another mercy that she'd not been sane to suffer through it. Perhaps she'd felt nothing at all.

Perhaps it didn't matter.

"Neirin," Taharka said to the silent, foul air. It had to be Neirin's doing. The dragon tracks outside all but proved it: the prince had been here, and he had killed the only surviving Genome. His perfect, broken Genome. Taharka lowered Sonia's hand, and scooped the small girl into his arms. If he did nothing else here, he intended to see to it her death was handled appropriately.

And then he would turn his mind to two very important tasks: first, he was going to find and capture Neirin. Second, he was going to find some way – _any _way – to create Garland without fracturing another soul. The longer it took to find Neirin, the more time he had to test and test and _test_, and in the end, find some way to perfect the process. He'd developed and perfected _other _processes. It was only a matter of time before he perfected this one. And he _would _perfect it; he owed that much to Terra.

He owed that much to Sonia.

xxx

It was a long flight back to Astrula. Kuja rode with Tiamat, and found out the hard way that Tiamat was _not _a particularly gentle dragonrider: he surged ahead of Kraken and Elisi, swooping down so low to the ground that they very nearly collided with a malboro and several large rocks, only to sweep back up to the sky, so high Kuja felt dizzy. Moreover, Tiamat was especially fond of killing from the harness, and on more than one occasion he swept the dragon upside-down, drawing his sword as they skimmed only a man's height away from the ground. When he passed a malboro in this fashion, he lashed out at it, slicing through tentacles and slimy flesh. And then they'd spiral up again, the dragon flaring out its wings in grand fashion. Kuja eventually took to lying himself flat against the dragon's neck, covering his eyes and clinging to the best as if he feared it might drop out from beneath him.

When at last they landed in Astrula, their dragon was winded but exhilarated, snorting and shaking its head. Kuja slid weakly out of the harness, and his knees buckled beneath him. Tiamat laughed at him, jerking him back up to his feet. "Shake it off. You'll have a dragon of your own after we've had a fair night's rest."

"We're staying the night?" Kuja peered up at the man, startled. "I thought we'd return to Neirin as swiftly as possible."

It had been harder than he'd expected to leave Neirin behind. Since the night they'd fled from the massacre in Traje, they'd not been apart for more than a few hours at a time. Kuja didn't _cry_; of course not, but there was an undeniable anxiety that flared within him like a brushfire every time he thought about Neirin left with only Maliris and Lich to keep him safe. It wasn't that he doubted their _ability_ to protect the king, only… only that _he_ had been doing the protecting for so long, and in many ways, he thought perhaps he was the only one properly suited to it. Maliris was unpredictable and vicious; Lich was helpless without magic. And Neirin was _important_, not only because he was the king, but because it was Kuja's job to make sure he stayed safe.

Kuja was god-touched, after all. Who else could claim to have been called as such?

"We'll be back soon enough." Tiamat's expression softened, but only just the slightest possible bit. "These dragons need rest and food, and so do we. A week in the harness without stopping is good on neither man nor beast." He looked up as Kraken and Elisi landed at last, and winced. "She's angry."

He was right. Kraken dismounted, livid. "You _idiot_," she snarled, storming over to Tiamat. "You _thrice-damned fool,_ you could have gotten us _killed_ with your idiotic stunts! What if there were cultists watching? What if _Taharka _was watching?"

Tiamat shrugged. "Then I suppose he'd have seen two dragons and four passengers whether I'd been stunting or not, aye?"

"He raises an excellent point," Elisi pointed out, freeing herself from her own harness and sliding down from the dragon.

Kraken sighed. "And that _isn't_ the point, Elisi."

"I'm hungry," Kuja lied, hoping to interrupt the argument. "Can't we get something to eat?" He looked pleadingly at Elisi, who (thankfully) echoed his suggestion, adding that perhaps they ought to seek out an inn for the night. Fortunately, Kuja knew a decent one, though of course he had to point out that four murders and one assault had occurred there. Tiamat said he didn't mind a good tavern brawl, and was disappointed to find that the inn in question was, in fact, rather nice, and not at all likely to erupt in violence. Kuja, for his part, could almost swear the innkeeper recognized him; the man was glaring at him throughout most of the evening.

Sometime around midnight, Kuja dragged himself to their room and claimed the first spot in the larger of the two beds. He fell asleep almost immediately, and was only dimly aware of Kraken and Elisi coming to bed, as well, not long after himself.

And then he and Neirin were in the temple, sitting in the library together as they often did. There was smoke, though Neirin insisted it was merely from the cookfire. Kuja didn't believe him. He set about searching the temple for the fire, searching everywhere: the sleeping cells, the kitchen, the chapel, the main hall. He couldn't say where the fire finally appeared; Kuja knew only that quite suddenly, it was _everywhere, _and try as he might, Kuja could only find his way _out_ of the temple, not back into it, not where he _needed_ to go: not back to Neirin.

Neirin was in the library. Kuja tried to run through the flames, but they pushed him back like blazing hands, and he thought he heard the fire laughing maliciously. He tried to call out the king's name, but the fire grabbed his words and burned them. He pushed again, reaching deep inside of himself to find the force to do it.

He had to reach Neirin, he had to, he _had to -_

"Kuja!" He was shaken roughly awake, and he jolted up, choking on smoke. Was he still dreaming? No, there _was_ smoke, and it was everywhere, and it was real. Kraken shook him again, saying something about escaping, something about Taharka, something about fire. His mind was hazy, but he understood well enough. The boy climbed out of bed, following the woman blindly through the smoke-filled hallway, down the stairs, which were already beginning to burn. "Stay close to the walls," Kraken warned over the sound of the crackling flames, but Kuja didn't need to be warned, nor did Elisi, who followed just behind him.

"Where is Tiamat?" Elisi's voice was shrill with fear. Was she afraid? Kuja reached back and seized her hand, trying to calm her with his own illogical calmness. She grabbed it tightly, squeezing so hard her nails dug into his skin. He winced, but said nothing; it would be over soon, for better or worse.

Kraken looked back at her. "The dragons," she replied. "We'll meet him there."

Astrula was ablaze, and black-cloaked cultists ran the streets, slicing down anyone they met. Elisi drew her short sword and Kraken unfurled her whip, but Kuja found himself utterly defenseless. As a pitiful show, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the small knife Jalen had given him. It wasn't much, and it wasn't a sword, but it was _something_.

They made their way through the town slowly and with a great deal of bloodshed; the two women cut down every cultists who dared to approach them. Kuja managed only to nick one long enough to distract him, and Elisi managed to finish him off. She was soaked in blood, but none of it was her own – she was surprisingly _good_, Kuja realized with no small amount of awe, and he followed her without fear. On several occasions, she even used magic. Simple spells, of course; nothing he hadn't seen Neirin do already, but it was impressive to know she _could_ do magic at all. The girl he'd known had grown into a _warrior_ after all these years.

After what seemed a bloody, smoky eternity, they reached the dragon corral. The cultists were already there. Tiamat fought them off like a man gone mad, slicing this way and that, cutting through the black cloaks as if they weren't men at all, but beasts. The dragons roared, catching the scent of so much blood and meat; they were wild with the same rage as Tiamat.

"It's us, you fool, it's _us_," Kraken yelled, when Tiamat whirled to face them, eyes wide with blind fury. The man stared at them for a long, tense moment before recognition dawned in his dark eyes. Wordlessly, he grabbed Kraken's wrist and began running toward the dragon stable, leaving the two others to follow behind them, stumbling over mutilated corpses. Kuja tried not to look. He'd seen worse in Lisre, after all.

"Four," Tiamat said breathlessly, pointing to the four harnessed dragons. "Those four. Get on." They did. Kuja did so without hesitating – torn between flying a dragon and burning alive, his fears seemed unimportant. He recognized his dragon as the one Neirin had been flying: it didn't have the crooked feather Jalen's had.

It gave him hope.

The dragons ran as quickly as they could through the stable doors and launched themselves into the sky without a care for direction or destination. Kuja clung tightly to his, willing it to fall into line with the others; wishing it would fly straight and true back to Neirin, Maliris, and Lich. Below, others dragons tore screaming for the sky as well, fleeing the burning stable. Kuja's dragon roared down at them, before banking hard to the left. Kuja clung to it as it slid into line with Tiamat's dragon – the one with the crooked feather. The other two floated in behind them, riding some orange-colored dragons whose breed Kuja didn't recognize and didn't care to recognize. The important thing was that they were alive – alive and on their way back to Neirin at last, and everything would be okay.

It took a great deal of effort not to look back at beautiful, burning Astrula with its bell ringing in the pale dawn light; it took even more effort not to look back and see what horrible fate befell the temple where he and Neirin had found their sanctuary. _The priests will die,_ Kuja realized. He wanted to cry, but found he couldn't. Instead, he simply leaned forward, resting his face against the dragon's neck. The dragon flew unerringly, requiring little instruction from him, for which he was grateful. The week in flight passed slowly. The four of them never spoke. They landed only once, to rest the wings of the orange dragons, which were not bred for such rapid flights. During this night, Elisi held him close while he cried at last, babbling uselessly about High Priest Zenabri and the lesser priests, who had given them two years of life they likely wouldn't have had otherwise; about the library that was likely burned; about Astrula itself, and more; more he didn't even remember the next day.

And then they flew on, until at last they reached the small cavern.

Neirin and Lich were standing just outside the mouth of the cavern, flickers of light passing between them. Kuja was dimly aware that they must be working magic; likely Lich was trying to teach Neirin. Jalen leaned casually against the stones of the cavern, chatting somewhat amiably with a rather surly-looking Maliris.

It was all so comfortable-looking. Kuja could scarcely wait to land.

"Kuja," Neirin said, turning toward them as they landed. "So you flew…" He began, smiling teasingly, but the smile flickered and then died when Kuja dismounted and hurled himself into the king's arms, needing nothing so much as to assure himself that Neirin _was_ alive, even when so many others had died.

Neirin held him awkwardly, looking up at Tiamat quizzically.

"Astrula is gone." Tiamat's voice was flat. "And with it, the last safe haven on the mother continent. You know what we must do."

Neirin's embrace tightened.

Their world had changed.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Are we leaving the continent for real this time? For really real? (Hint: Yes.)


	20. Fleeing the Mother Continent

**Author's Note:** Today – September 7, 2010 – is my twentieth birthday (and did I manage to get the _twentieth chapter _on my twentieth birthday? Hell yes, yes I did). How awesome is it that I get to post a chapter _on my birthday_? I wish it wasn't a filler chapter, though (this is what happens when I get to expand on things and write a longer fic, just so we're clear).

Midnight the Black Fox, yes, we finally get to see what the other continents are like! And oh, what fun that will be. XitaUnlucky, as I said in my reply to you, the only male character who is actively _attracted_ to Elisi is Jalen; the others have t heir own feelings about her. And yes, Taharka has a tiiiny bit of a soft side, who knew? And I know I said it once already, but good luck with school! Clement Rage, I already blathered to you – I'm sorry for my long expository response; I get a little carried away in explaining things that don't come up in the fic itself (which is why I have the trivia page, which I need to update). And WiREP, Kuja isn't _quite_ up to full health yet, but he's better than he was, definitely, and not focusing nearly as much as he was on his illness. And _yes_, I'm glad to have the guardians back, too; they're some of my favorites to write, considering how much fun they have sniping at each other.  
On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty: Fleeing the Mother Continent**

It became readily apparent that Neirin was still unwilling to leave the continent. He paced in front of the cavern like a trapped beast, arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold, though the night air was warm and humid. Tiamat and Maliris watched him from the cavern's entrance. Immediately following the declaration that they _would_ be leaving the continent, Tiamat had taken up an unyielding post no more than a stone's throw away from the king – a safeguard against the possibility that Neirin might try to vanish in the night a second time.

"He's stubborn, but he's not stupid," Kuja protested, when Elisi explained Tiamat's misgivings. "He knows there's no other choice." More importantly, though, was that for Neirin, there was nowhere left _to _run. Anywhere they might have tried to reach was likely forever away, beyond their reach. And there was no way to know for certain which cities, if any, had escaped Taharka's rampage, and it wasn't worth the time it would take to _reach_ any cities that _might_ have survived. Leaving the continent was the only option that remained open to them.

Elisi sighed, admitting defeat. "He knows there's no other choice," she repeated, nodding. "But desperate people do silly things, Kuja. Neirin is nothing if not desperate."

"He _won't_ leave." Kuja flipped through the book he'd brought from Astrula during their first departure, which seemed forever ago. The book had been badly beaten in his satchel, but it provided him a small sanctuary from reality, if only for a moment. "He's just worried, that's all. We're all worried, aren't we?"

"Too true." Jalen's unwelcome voice sliced into the conversation, and Kuja glanced up irately from his book. The mercenary settled himself beside Elisi, offering her a small nod in greeting. "We're all _terrified,_" he continued. "Because none of us have been off of this continent, ourselves. None of us really know what to expect outside of the mother continent, do we? Aside from our dear scholar, perhaps," he added, glancing at Kuja. "I don't suppose that book of yours offers any advice?"

Kuja wanted very much to be able to say it _did_. "Not… especially," he replied reluctantly. "It focuses mostly on the history of the mother continent." He flipped a few pages, hoping to find something about the outside continents. Nothing surfaced.

"Pity." Jalen sighed. "It would have been nice to have _some_ idea where we were headed."

_Neirin said the same thing two years ago,_ Kuja thought wistfully, flipping idly through the pages of his book. It was strange, looking back, how temporary the entire situation had seemed. Kuja had assumed Taharka would be brought to justice in short order, and they would return to Traje in triumph. Or perhaps he would return to Bran Bal. In his imagination, he'd never been certain of which he'd prefer, though looking back, he supposed he'd have chosen Traje. After all, if the years had taught him anything, it was that Neirin was utterly hopeless without him.

"And therein lies the _problem_ with this idea!" Neirin stormed over, giving Maliris only a second to duck out of the way. The young king loomed over the three of them, glaring specifically at Jalen. "Have you any _idea_ how long a flight we'll be on if we attempt to jump from one continent to the next? The dragons are weary enough _now_, never mind what state they'll be in after an ocean crossing, if they even survive that long. We need a _ship_, but I can't imagine any ships are actively sailing _now_, and any port towns of any real use have likely been burned to the ground-"

"Except for one." Lich's voice was calm. He rose from his seat near the dragons, approaching Neirin as if he expected the king to lash out at any moment. Still, his voice remained carefully placid. "One port may remain open to us. I make no promises, but… the port of Vachest may have been spared."

Kraken stirred. "Impossible. It's held by Taharka's cult. We'd never get aboard a vessel, and who's to say one would be sailing to the outer continents now, in any case?" She shook her head. "We'd be far wiser to attempt the flight."

"Taharka isn't likely to search for Neirin in a place held by his own men," Lich pointed out. "Nor will he be expecting him to have reunited with us. When last I heard, Taharka believes the four of us dead, and he has no reason to expect _her_," he added, pointing to Elisi. "Were we to conceal ourselves carefully enough, we might be able to secure passage to another continent. You can't persuade me that Taharka _wouldn't_ be attempting to conquer other continents as well." He gave a wry smile. "After all, he's attempting to wipe out all life, even at its most uncivilized."

Maliris laughed bitterly. "So you would have us ferry ourselves into the heart of yet _another_ continent where Taharka's fishing about, you old fool? You've not thought this plan through." She rose, stretching her stiff muscles. The scar on her cheek looked less irritated today, Kuja noticed. "Why not fly south? Less strain on the dragons, more potential allies."

"Potential…" Lich's eyes widened slightly. "Your people would assist us, Maliris?"

She laughed. "_My people_ likely want to see Taharka's head on a spit." She grinned wickedly, suggesting that she might just approve of this image. Kuja looked away. "They'll not help us for Neirin's sake, but if we suggest we'd like to see Taharka dead, why… they just might be open to our cause."

Neirin looked between the two, considering. Kuja watched, closing the book in his lap – either way, they were bound to be leaving soon. "South would take us past Astrula again," Neirin murmured. "Unless we flew wide around it. And we have no idea where Taharka _is_, so we may just as easily fly into a trap. Still, Vachest…" He shuddered. "I don't relish the thought of wandering directly into the hive. We're _just_ as likely, if not more so, to wander into a trap." He set to pacing again; his anxiety was nearly tangible. "God, if I only knew what to _do_…"

"Let's go south," Kuja blurted. It wasn't so much that he had any intuition on the matter as it was that he desperately wanted to provide Neirin with _some _direction, for the sake of calming the king down. If Neirin lost his head, it was only a matter of time before anyone _else_ did.

Neirin turned to look at him, staring blankly.

"And where did _this _bit of brilliance come from?" Tiamat lifted an eyebrow, eying Kuja skeptically. For a moment, Kuja floundered; he didn't have any real _justification_ for the suggestion, only that he didn't want to be surrounded by cultists with no guarantee that Taharka wouldn't be in the city at the same time. Nor did he like the thought of sailing to yet another land torn asunder by Taharka. In the end, his only justification was childish fear, and childish fear would not serve to persuade Tiamat, nor any of the other guardians.

Fortunately, it was enough to persuade Elisi. "He's never steered Neirin wrong before," Elisi pointed out, wrapping an arm protectively around the boy. Kuja sighed with relief, leaning into her. "He's a lucky charm, isn't he? He's given no cause _not _to trust his instincts."

And so it was that the next morning, they rose to begin the long flight south.

It was difficult to decide who would ride which dragon; the matter of efficient flight troubled the guardians. The orange dragons were not meant for long flights, Tiamat pointed out, and could not keep up under a heavy rider. Worse, they would need frequent stops, and such stops were not likely to be readily available on the oversea flight. Naturally Kraken pointed out that _Tiamat_ had chosen the dragons in the first place, which led to the two of them bickering for some time; time that could have been better-spent elsewhere. Meanwhile, Maliris and Jalen set to gathering what little belongings they had and securing them to the dragons' harnesses – particularly the larger dragons, of course. Lich sought to ease Neirin's nerves by providing a few brief lessons in magic, and Elisi stepped in to participate, so long as Kraken wasn't looking. Kuja was content to watch (and he tried, with limited success, to imitate some of the lesser spells).

It was mid-morning by the time they finally set out: Kraken and Lich were seated on one of the larger dragons, Tiamat and Maliris sat the other; Jalen and Elisi took one of the smaller dragons, and Neirin and Kuja took the other. The justification was, naturally, that the smaller dragons were faster over short distances, and should an escape become necessary, speed was more valuable than endurance.

Kuja, for one, was not pleased to be seated upon a new dragon, when he had only _just_ become accustomed to the previous one.

The flight was much rougher, too, given the frequency at which the orange dragon flapped its wings.

Kuja was not content with the realization that this would be a much, much longer journey than any he had previously suffered through, and he resigned himself to spending the bulk of the journey flattened out against the dragon's neck. Behind him, he heard Neirin laughing. He couldn't help wondering if the king was laughing at _him_, or laughing because they were, at the very least, on the move again. And with a destination in mind, no less. Kuja closed his eyes, praying to the All-Seeing Eye that the destination was the _correct_ one.

They did fly wide around Astrula for the sake of safety, though this led to more pauses for the orange dragons. The orange dragons were testy, and they often nipped at each other and quarreled over the other dragons' dragged-back prey. The prey was scant and starving when the dragons _did_ find it, and the larger dragons weren't always keen on sharing.

"What I wouldn't give for a proper silver dragon," Neirin lamented, watching as Tiamat and Maliris dragged the two orange beasts away from one another for the hundredth time. "At least _they _aren't overeager to fight at every turn."

Kuja, for his part, rather disliked the principle of dragons at _all_. He intended to discuss the matter with Elisi, and was dismayed to find that she was deep in conversation with Jalen. The two of them seemed to have formed something of a bond during their flights together, and for nearly every stop they made, Elisi had been occupied with chattering with the mercenary. Neirin, on the other hand, was wrapped up in his thoughts, and of course none of the guardians were especially keen on speaking to a child. All in all, it made for a particularly lonely journey.

Therefore, he was grateful when at last they caught a glimpse of a blue shimmer on the horizon. "That's the ocean," Neirin said, and Kuja lifted his head. Sure enough, at the very edge of the wasteland, far off in the distance, color glittered to life. Kuja sat up slowly, letting the wind ruffle his hair. When he inhaled, the air tasted a little like salt.

Somewhere beyond that ocean was their chance – perhaps their _only _chance – at survival.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yes, another short chapter – I know, I know, but I didn't want to pick up the next part and end up with a double-length chapter when I didn't have the time to _write_ a double-length chapter. That being said, provided I get started on it early enough, the next chapter may in fact be a double-length chapter. That, or it'll have a cliffhanger. Um… see you next week, when we find out!


	21. Consequences

**Author's Note:** Nope, unfortunately, it's not a double-length chapter. It's a full page longer than usual, though, which makes up for the missing page from last week! And thank god, it's not a filler chapter. (This was posted later than usual due to site upgrades. Huzzah.)  
First of all, thank you to everyone who offered birthday wishes. C: Midnight the Black Fox, we're about to find out (the answer is pretty much what you'd expect). Blacktepes, it's always another week – I post every week on Tuesday. As for games, I got Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep for my birthday, so maybe! WiREP, I'm sorry for the dragon chapter. My brain is a little fuzzy and fried lately, too. :c Hopefully this one is just a bit better (though here there be dragons, too). JessRangel, I can't comment on your speculations, but I always enjoy reviewer speculations; they never fail to be interesting. And XitaUnlucky, yes, Neirin was probably laughing at Kuja the entire time; Neirin's kind of an ass like that. And you're right about the ocean; it's always beautiful.  
On with the chapter! Bring on the new continent, indeed!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-One: Consequences**

For three days, they lingered on the shoreline, making what preparations they could. Kraken and Tiamat set to catching as many fish as the larger dragons could conceivably carry and preparing them to last for the duration of the flight. The end result didn't look especially appetizing, but Kuja didn't have the heart to complain. They also began filtering a great deal of seawater; boiling it and running it through cloth in hopes of removing as much of the salt as possible. Meanwhile, Lich educated Neirin further in the working of magic, and Jalen and Maliris drilled Elisi in knife techniques. Left to his own devices, Kuja spent the days reading. When the book was at last finished, he set about collecting shells from the rocky shore.

Their shelter was a small cove, holding tightly to a small pool of seawater. Rather than sand, the shore was lined with rocks, beaten smooth by the rise and fall of the tide. Kuja walked barefoot along the rocks, scooping up shells from their hiding places in cracks and crannies. He'd read about the hobby of collecting shells, though he wasn't certain he understood it. He studied each shell carefully, turning it over to examine the pink-and-grey smooth undersides, before setting them back into their niches. There was no point, after all, in keeping them. Sighing, he glanced over his shoulder, eyeing Elisi and Neirin enviously.

He was old enough for a blade by now. He was old enough to _fight _by now.

Sighing, he withdrew Jalen's tiny knife from his pocket, turning it so the blade flashed in the light of the sunset. Thus far, the only use he'd found for it was in prying open an oyster to see what the inside looked like. So long as they encountered nothing more dangerous than an oyster, he supposed, they were perfectly safe.

And it wasn't _fair_. He'd done more of the fighting so far than Neirin had; why did Neirin get to be trained? And why Elisi? Elisi was just a servant last time he'd seen her; why did _she _get to become a warrior, and why was _he _supposed to be content to be dragged along like this, helpless and defenseless? It wasn't that he resented either of them; of course not.

But he resented being a _child_.

He sat down on the largest of the rocks, picking up a white, cracked shell. In front of him, the ocean spread out for miles, with no land in sight. It occurred to him that he hadn't bothered to ask how long the flight across the ocean would take, or for that matter, how in the world they were going to _make_ the flight with two dragons who could barely manage a flight of several hours. It seemed as if Maliris were asking for a miracle… and _he_ had encouraged it. At the time, it made so much sense. With the sight of the immense ocean before him, however, Kuja was beginning to have his doubts. He wondered if it was too late to suggest the port town after all. If nothing else, he supposed that between the eight of them, they could have taken control of a ship; steered it elsewhere… in retrospect, that seemed like a brilliant plan, and a much less risky one.

"You're lost in thought again." Elisi's voice jolted him out of his self-pity, and he looked up at her. Her hair was damp with sweat and her skin was flushed, but she seemed happy enough; happier than the situation warranted. She smiled, settling herself down on the rock beside him. He scooted over to give her more room.

For a moment, they stared at the ocean together in silence. Kuja wondered if she, too, was considering the impossibility of the task ahead. "We depart tomorrow morning," Elisi said quietly, picking up a rock and tossing it into the lapping waves. It splashed inconsequentially.

"How long will it take?"

She shrugged. "Maliris swears it's not a long crossing. The shortest continent-jump we can make, and probably the only one we can make without dragons born for long flights." She laughed humorlessly, shaking her head. "The king is right about one thing. We'd be well-served by silver dragons now. They're incredible for long flights like these."

Kuja looked at her. "What happened to the dragons at the castle?" It was a question he hadn't even considered until now. "The silver ones and the others? Were they all killed?"

"When the castle was attacked, the stable boys threw the balcony open." Elisi's voice was hollow, and her gaze was distant; not quite in the present. Kuja regretted asking; it was likely a night she didn't care to remember. "Most of the dragons flew before the cultists reached the stable. A few were trampled in the confusion, some got into fights in the air, and a few didn't even try to leave the stable. A pretty good number likely survived, though; I couldn't tell you where they ended up." She sighed. "I know Lich's dragon was killed. Kraken fretted for months about Erebea, but we never found her. I don't know about the others."

Kuja smiled sadly. "I wanted to see the dragon races," he remembered. "It was all I cared about in the city. Dragon races. Where the dragon races were held, mostly; I wanted to know where…" He trailed off, fighting back the lump in his throat. What he wouldn't give to have such simple, silly desires _now_; he was tired of wanting nothing more than survival. He wanted to be back in Traje, wide-eyed and fascinated, surprised by everything. He wanted to be back at the manor, creeping through old passageways, pretending he was on wild adventures. He wanted to be back in the forest of Bran Bal, battling an invisible hecteyes with a stick. More than anything, he didn't want to be sitting on an unnamed shoreline preparing for an impossible flight to a continent he knew nothing about, caught in a constant flight from a foe with the power to kill Terra herself.

A hand grazed his cheek, and he blinked, surprised to find that he was crying.

Elisi wiped away the last of his tears and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You'll see hundreds of dragon races," she whispered, as he rested his head gratefully on her shoulder. "We're going to save Terra and put Neirin back on the throne, you and I. Just you wait."

xxx

Dawn came.

Kuja was very nearly still asleep as he climbed into the harness; Neirin had to secure it for him, for Kuja was simply too tired to bother. He'd been awake much later than he likely should have been, tossing and turning restlessly for hours. He couldn't stop imagining that, mid-flight, the orange dragons would lose their strength and plummet into the ocean. In the few moments of sleep he managed to grasp, he dreamed of drowning. When he woke from these dreams, he swore he tasted salt, but perhaps that was only the air.

Still, he allowed himself to be secured into the harness, if only because he was too exhausted to protest. "He'll sleep for the better part of the day," Maliris said from just beyond the curtain of semi-consciousness. She gave a short laugh. "Probably for the best, if he hates flying as much as Tiamat says."

"Flying with Tiamat would make anyone hate dragons," Kraken replied, erasing the traces of their campsite. "He's reckless, careless, foolish…"

Grinning, Tiamat secured the last of the bundles of fish to the largest of the dragons. "I fly dragons the way they're meant to be. If the beast isn't exhausted by the end of the day, it's a wasted flight." He patted the dragon's flank, and the beast snorted at him. "Well, this isn't likely to be a wasted flight, I s'pose." He sobered. "Might be the death of the beasts even if we do make the crossing."

Kuja pretended he hadn't heard that.

They lifted into the air in a manner that in no way resembled the orderly formations they were all accustomed to flying in. To make matters even _more_ awkward, they were forced to fly at a very low altitude, lest they risk being seen from far off. The dragons skimmed the water's surface, occasionally sending up a startling spray of cold salt water to shock Kuja out of his slumber. For his part, Kuja tried desperately to keep his face buried against the dragon's back; he didn't want to see the water below, nor did he wish to see it all around him.

Yet again, he found himself questioning his decision to fly south: had they gone to the port, there would have been no flying over the ocean involved.

As Maliris had predicted, he spent a great deal of the first day asleep in the harness, draped over the dragon's neck. If he dreamed, the dreams were forgettable; if he woke, he didn't recall it. When at last he woke, the sky above was dark again, and by some act of mercy, he couldn't see the sea below – everywhere above and below was black, save for a spark of light in Neirin's palm and, somewhere a short distance ahead, a light from Lich as well. Kuja disliked the heaviness with which the dragon flapped its wings, slamming desperately at the air. He heard it panting with the effort to stay in flight, and clenched his teeth. How much longer could it keep going like this?

The answer, he knew, was not nearly long enough.

"You should go back to sleep." Neirin's voice was strained; he too knew the dragon couldn't last. Panic crept up Kuja's spine, and he looked around in the inky blackness that surrounded them, searching out Elisi and Jalen. He heard labored flapping from somewhere behind, but could see nothing. Neirin looked at him sharply, his faces oddly sharp in the light. "Don't move around so much," he instructed. "The dragon can't take distractions right now." _That_ got him to sit still.

Several times, the dragon dropped so low that it splashed through the water and panicked, flailing to pull itself back up. _It can't swim,_ Kuja realized dismally; he'd hoped they could rest in the water if need be. He heard Elisi scream when her dragon hit the water for the first time, and found he couldn't blame her. _I don't want to drown_. Nothing seemed as important, in that moment, as _not drowning_.

"Can't you do anything?" He looked at Neirin desperately. "Anything at all?"

Neirin smiled wryly. "This was your idea," he replied. "Do _you _have any ideas?"

He did not. Kuja clung to the faltering dragon, loathing himself for ever making this decision in the first place; it was suicide. Had they truly come halfway across the world just to die in the ocean? Surely there was some way to survive this; surely there was some way to allow the dragons to rest… or, perhaps, to restore their strength altogether.

That was it! "Heal them!" Neirin blinked at him, confused. Kuja growled, frustrated. "_Heal_ the dragons! It'll give them more strength, won't it? That's what we need!"

Neirin shook his head. "It won't be enough."

"It'll be _something_," Kuja exclaimed, anxiety cracking his voice. "It might be enough to get us to a place to get some real rest. It's better than drowning!"

The king hesitated for a moment longer, until the dragon splashed through the water again, spraying them with salt and terror. "_Fine,_" he said, calling up as much magic as he could and forcing it into the dragon. The world erupted into glowing white-green-gold light, radiant and warm.

Kuja _felt_ the magic going to work. The muscles beneath him relaxed, no longer as painfully clenched as they had been, and the wings fell into a regular, comfortable rhythm. The dragon drew a deep breath and rose steadily higher, gaining its lost altitude. Neirin exhaled a shuddering breath, shaking his head in disbelief. Kuja understood; there was no reason why that ought to have worked – it was a desperate last-resort strategy. By rights they ought to have dropped out of the sky and into the ocean. The boy laughed with the weight of his relief; despite all odds, they'd _lived_.

"Elisi's dragon too?" Kuja looked up at Neirin, glancing over his shoulder at Elisi's dragon, which was still floundering weakly through the air. "Can you heal hers, too?"

"Not from this distance." They _were _gaining a great deal of distance on Elisi and Jalen – their rejuvenated dragon had picked up a great deal of speed, placing them only a very short distance behind Tiamat's weighted-down mount. Neirin's eyes widened suddenly, and he looked back at Elisi and Jalen. "The girl uses magic, though, doesn't she?" He banked their dragon, trying to slow it down enough to come closer to the others, but couldn't get the beast to drop back – having come dangerously close to dying, the dragon was now desperate to fly as far and as fast as it could, seeking land.

Kuja watched Elisi and Jalen drop away into the darkness, horrified. "_Elisi_!" He screamed, trying his hardest to be heard above the wind. "Elisi, you have to heal the dragon! You have to-"

From somewhere beyond their small ring of light, Kuja heard a painful roar, a heavy splash, and a blend of screaming and swearing.

The scream was cut abruptly, horribly short.

"Elisi!" He called, straining to see beyond the black curtain of night. "Elisi, answer me! _Please_!"

No answer came.

They flew on.

xxx

When the sun rose, there were only three dragons flying above the ocean. No one spoke of the fourth dragon's absence, though all six of them frequently glanced back at the horizon, praying to see Elisi and Jalen catching up. Tears stood in Kraken's eyes, Kuja saw when they drew close enough. Even Tiamat seemed disheartened, patting his dragon's flank miserably. Maliris was stone-faced, staring blindly ahead. Lich... Lich cradled his head in his hands, shaking with silent sobs. Kuja wished he could cry. He wanted to cry so badly it _hurt_. But it didn't seem real; it _couldn't_ be real; he'd only just reunited with Elisi – how could she be gone so suddenly?

And he had killed her.

That was the truly awful part. It was _his_ decision that led to her fall into the ocean; it was _his_ decision that had placed her on that dragon's back – a dragon who had no business flying across the ocean. Their own dragon had to be healed several times over, and Neirin did so without a word. He, too, seemed incapable of feeling anything. Kuja wondered why. Was it for _his _benefit; did the king know he felt guilty? Was it for Jalen, who had been with them only for the sake of money? Or was it his _own_ guilt over being the reason they were here at all?

Neirin offered no explanation, and Kuja didn't ask. He rested his face against the dragon's neck and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep, hoping he'd wake up to find it was all a horrible nightmare.

And so the days passed.

Kuja lost track of how many days exactly they spent in the air, but it was nearing sunrise when at last they spotted land on the horizon.

The continent was vast and golden, gleaming with sand and red-gold rocks. Kuja stared at it in unconcealed awe and no small amount of fear: he'd not expected a desert. He wasn't certain of _what_ he had expected; perhaps a continent much like the mother continent he knew so well. Of course he'd always known there were deserts in the world. There were always deserts in the stories, filled with thieves and treasures, but to actually _see_ one…

The dragons needed no coaxing to land; they did so happily. The orange dragon collapsed upon touching the land, sending Neirin and Kuja sideways in the harnesses. They untangled themselves with some difficulty, then walked to reunite with the guardians.

It seemed so lonely without Elisi.

Worse, Kuja thought he missed _Jalen_ just a bit.

"If she'd only known to heal the dragon," Lich was saying, shaking his head. "If only I'd been allowed to _teach _her-"

"_Do not act like this is my fault!_" Kraken screamed, grabbing the man by the collar of his robes. "You bastard, do _not_ act like this is all _my_ fault! Don't… don't…" She broke down, choking on her sobs. Lich reached out a steadying hand, but Kraken knocked it aside, turning away. "This was _not_ my fault," she said flatly, roughly brushing away her tears with the heel of her hand. "We… we have no time to waste. Maliris." She turned to the other guardian, who was making a show of helping Tiamat with the unloading of the dragons, likely to avoid the necessity of consoling the inconsolable Kraken.

Maliris raised her head. "In a hurry, are you?" She pointed toward the distant horizon, where mountains jutted up against the sky. "There's our destination, if you're so eager to rush off. Best of luck crossing the desert during the heat of the day."

"You mean for us to wait until _night_?" Tiamat dropped the satchels he'd been carrying, nearly hitting the dragons. The larger of the two snorted irately at him, but seemed too tired to do much else. "Maliris, you thrice-damned bitch, you had us arrive in the _morning_!"

The red-haired woman shrugged, picking up the satchels Tiamat had dropped. "We'll need today for preparations. We have next to no food, and we'll need more water. We'll cross the desert quick enough with the dragons, but they're exhausted." She jerked a thumb toward the orange dragon, which hadn't lifted itself from the sand yet. Kuja sat beside it, stroking its crested head absently; he didn't know what else to do. Neirin sat nearby, channeling healing magic into the weary, half-dead beast. Maliris eyed them both, sighing. "The dragons are exhausted, and _those_ two aren't fit for travel."

Lich nodded his agreement. "Give the boy a day to grieve and Neirin a day to rest. He's not a healer by nature." The man sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "I can't imagine what the trip must have taken out of him. Leave them be."

The day passed in agonizing slowness. Occasionally Kraken would catch herself staring out at the ocean, hoping for some sign, _any_ sign, that Elisi had survived. The horizon remained stubbornly empty.

The orange dragon died around noon, despite Neirin's best efforts. Too much strain on its heart, Lich explained; too much strain, too little strength left. Neirin was miserable and furious, and spent the rest of the day fuming and barking orders. Kuja sat beside the dead dragon. He couldn't think of anything better to do. _Elisi would know_, he thought, and closed his eyes against the pain. _Elisi would talk to me, at least._ The sun inched slowly across the sky. The guardians filtered water. Neirin got into an argument with Lich. Kuja watched it all, feeling emptier than ever before.

"Up with you," Maliris ordered, nudging him with a foot. "We've a bit of a flight ahead of us. You've had your time."

Slowly, awkwardly, Kuja rose to his stiff legs and staggered over to Neirin. "Oh no you don't," Maliris said, steering him toward the dragon she and Tiamat shared. "You're riding with us. Not enough space on the dragons for four, and we're short a set of wings."

"Pity we can't butcher it for meat," Tiamat lamented, lifting Kuja into the harness. He secured the boy into the harness using straps stolen from the dead dragon, and for once, Kuja didn't feel especially afraid of the flight. He didn't especially _feel_ anything at all. He looked at Neirin as the king mounted the other dragon, and took comfort in the fact that Neirin didn't look especially sure of himself, either.

The dragons took to the air, grumbling in pained protest. The day had done little to rest them fully, and Kuja felt the stiffness in their movements. All the same, they flew through the sunset light, toward the rocks on the horizon.

"We'll cover the desert in a day," Maliris said, pointing to the dry expanse ahead. "And then the _real _trial begins."

Tiamat looked at her over his shoulder. "Real trial, eh? What sort of people d'you come from?"

She grinned wickedly. "The best sort," she replied. "Thieves, backstabbers, liars, and sneaks; just as likely to kill you as save you. And if anyone can help us, it's them."

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**Author's Note:** Maliris comes from good people, obviously. See you next week!


	22. Kingdom of the Desert

**Author's Note:** I can't believe I actually wrote a chapter this week. Three exams. _Three_, people. Do you see what I do for you?  
Midnight the Black Fox, that was _exactly_ what he was thinking, and oh how very happy he was with Maliris at that moment. WiREP, I do not want a pencil in my ear. :c I like my ears pencil-free. Also my god, yes, Kuja needs several thousand hugs at this point, and things would go a lot easier for him if he'd just admit as much already and _accept some goddamn hugs_. XitaUnlucky, thank you! I tried to keep it mostly understated, if only because, well, it's definitely not the first or last death scene in this fic, so there was no call for unnecessary or over-the-top drama. And yes, I dragged myself away from BBS last week. _Somehow_. And Clement Rage, to answer your questions (even though I already did): not enough time to cut through the hide or properly prepare the meat, and no real way to _carry_ all that meat, either. Also, the ten year old tactician is also the one who's kicked the most on-camera ass in this fic, second only to, perhaps, Tiamat (and maybe Bellanna there at the beginning; there was no body count there).  
On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Kingdom of the Desert**

Kuja's misery was compounded by the nearly-unbearable desert conditions. The heat beat down on the travelers like a physical entity, and more than once the dragons had to rest. And then, once the heat had at last dissipated, they had to contend with the _cold_. Kuja had never believed the desert could be cold, yet once the sun was gone and its heat gone with it, the desert winds were chilly. Tiamat was kind enough to wrap his cloak around the boy's shoulders, and that provided _some_ refuge, though the cloak was so threadbare the wind clawed through it.

When the sun came up, they sought shelter in the shade of some tall sand dunes. What water they had left, they gave to the dragons. Maliris assured them it wouldn't be much longer before they reached their destination, and Kuja found he didn't care. Neirin was in a brooding mood, which was just as well; Kuja didn't feel much like talking.

They took to the air again shortly before sundown, and Kuja spent yet another night shivering over the dragon's neck, cowering beneath Tiamat's cloak.

When the sun rose again, its light revealed a village on the horizon.

"There it is!" Maliris yelled jubilantly. "Home sweet home – the desert kingdom of Kiera!"

From the other dragon, Neirin peered over at her. "Kingdom?"

She grinned, the serpent on her cheek opening its jaws wide. "Didn't think you were the only king on Terra, did you? Ha!" She laughed, tossing her head back. The expression on Neirin's face suggested that yes, he _had_ thought as much. To be honest, so too had Kuja; he'd never been given any reason to suspect otherwise. The world was a much bigger place than he'd imagined it to be, and he'd never stopped to wonder if perhaps the people _in _the world were quite a bit different than those he was accustomed too, as well.

All of a sudden, he was terrified of what lay ahead, rather than by what lay behind; for a moment, he forgot his loss, and replaced his grief with fear.

The village was impressive. As they drew closer, it became obvious that it was not a _village,_ but a city, large as any on the mother continent. It sat astride a wide river, and the entire city seemed to lean toward the river itself, as if the water was some sort of deity. Massive walls ringed the city on three sides, and the fourth side was guarded by an immense mountain range. The mountains alone seemed irreverent toward the presence of the river, which snaked beneath the city walls and around the mountains to vanish into the distance. The city itself was built from what looked like golden stone, or sand pressed into bricks. Here and there the walls of buildings were painted with glorious murals: scenes of battle or daily life, or simply wild designs with no aim or order. The city walls had murals of their own, but what was truly amazing about the large walls was the layer of gold that capped the walls, flashing in the brilliant early sun.

Men paced along the tops of the walls, though they stopped what they were doing to point upward at the approaching dragons. Enormous crossbows turned toward the dragons, but were not fired. Maliris waved her arms above her head to make herself seen, and the men called up to her in a strange tongue, gesturing toward the ground.

"They want us to land," Maliris translated for Tiamat. "Outside the walls."

Tiamat grunted, banking the dragon and sweeping down toward the sand. Maliris called up to the others, though they seemed to have gotten the idea already.

The walls were even more daunting from the ground. Kuja dismounted uneasily, trying to look up to the top of the walls. He had to lean backwards.

"Nice walls," Neirin remarked, folding his arms. "Walls didn't help Belapest, as I recall."

Maliris eyed him. "Do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut," she suggested, as the mammoth gates before them creaked open slowly. A small gathering of men armored in crudely-hammered metal stepped out to greet them. They glanced at Maliris and asked a question in their foreign tongue. She responded.

One of the men laughed, gesturing toward Neirin and saying something to one of his fellows. Kuja was frustrated; what were they laughing about? Doubtless it was an insult, but it was hard to say anything about it when they shared no common tongue. Most frustrating of all, Maliris simply smiled and shrugged, nodding.

Recognizing the insult, Neirin scowled. "I don't suppose any of them speak the mother tongue?"

"Aye, I speak your 'mother tongue,'" One of the men said, stepping forward. He was an old man, short and rather on the scrawny side, but he didn't seem especially concerned for his own safety – never mind the murderous looks Tiamat shot at the entire group. "Though it was spoken by no mother of mine. Roshan claims you to be her king." The man laughed, then coughed. "A pitiful sort of king you are, throneless and pursued by a heretic, with no army to call your own."

Neirin looked fit to explode, so Maliris stepped in quickly, speaking hurriedly in their native speech. Kraken cleared her throat, interrupting. "You know of our plight, then. How so?"

The old man glanced dismissively in her direction. "You speak as if you doubt Taharka's reach."

"His reach extends this far?" Neirin stared. "We'd come here hoping to escape it."

With a smirk, the man shook his head. "He sought to bring down our walls with his fire and hammers." He indicated a scorched portion of the walls nearby. "The walls of Kiera have stood for many cycles, and will stand for many more. We may be brigands, but we're the heart of the desert. Taharka cannot defeat the desert. Instead, he seeks to establish a presence within it." He lifted a hand, pointing behind him, toward the city and beyond. "Beyond the mountains, he is building _something_. Our scouts claim it to be crafted of materials not unlike the relics I saw on your own continent in my youth."

"What purpose does it serve?" Lich frowned, shaking his head. "A structure here in the desert?"

The man shrugged. "It serves. It makes us wonder. It makes us frustrated. Perhaps he hopes it will infuriate us enough to make us foolish enough to attack it, drawing our eye away from our own city. It is a small enough structure: we could attack it; we could bring it down. It would take nothing." He smiled, turning up his hands. "But our king is wise. He sends scouts to keep watch on the building's progress. Should it prove to be a threat, we will attack, but as it stands, it appears harmless. We will not risk our lives and our city."

Kraken stirred. "We should see it for ourselves," she suggested, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Perhaps we could accompany your scouts."

"Not today." Maliris shook her head. "Today we must enter Kiera and seek whatever sanctuary we can find within her walls. Vehtra," she said, bowing slightly to the old man. "We need to speak to the king."

The old man, Vehtra, nodded. "That you do. But which, Roshan? The Thief King, or Kiera's King?"

She hesitated. For a moment, Kuja saw something flicker across her face that he'd never seen before: uncertainty and, perhaps, regret. "Both," she said quietly. "In time. But for now, Kiera's King. He alone can offer us the safety we need."

The man watched her for a moment without speaking, then shook his head. "As you wish." His gaze slid toward the king and his other guardians, and his lips twitched. "I hope you carry nothing of any great worth. The desert has a way of… _parting_ men from their treasures." Behind Vehtra, the other desert-dwellers smirked, nodding and muttering amongst themselves; Kuja didn't like imagining what they might be discussing.

Neirin shook his head. "I have nothing."

"And you'll lose every bit of it," Vehtra chuckled, then turned to lead the way into the city.

xxx

They were led through the streets of Kiera in the strangest parade Kuja had ever seen. The dragons were quickly housed in what looked to be stables near the city gates, filled with red and gold dragons of varying sizes and temperaments. Kuja watched them go with a surprising sense of loss; he'd grown accustomed to having them nearby. He drifted close to Neirin, but the king was quickly pulled to the front of the procession, where he could be displayed before the entire population. Said population seemed to have turned out in its entirety to see him: scantily-dressed men and women lined the streets, crowding in to watch them pass. Many of them shared Maliris's flame-red hair and tattoos, though not all were of serpents; many were tattooed with what looked like dragons or demons. Kuja took advantage of his obvious youth to stare openly at the oddities surrounding him: grand murals, sweeping walls, streets paved in clean-swept sandy blocks, jewels dangling from every ear and throat and anywhere else he could think to name. Compared to the city and citizens of Kiera, their group was utterly plain and dull.

Perhaps that was the point.

It occurred to Kuja after a moment that he had no idea where they were going. He looked around for some grand castle, and saw nothing of the sort; all of the buildings appeared more or less similar in size and design. Moreover, it appeared as if the city streets led toward the mountains, rather than leading toward a castle or palace, as the streets of Traje had. Kuja followed at the back of the procession, struggling to see around those ahead of him. Just where in the world were they _going_?

As it turned out, they were going to a _cave_. The paved path led into a shallow cave in the mountain wall itself, not unlike the cavern in which Kuja had slept away his fever.

Neirin looked around, confused. "A strange sort of castle, isn't it?" He asked, glancing askance at Maliris, smirking. "I was beginning to believe your people _weren't_ barbarians, Maliris. But if _this_ is your castle…"

"Don't be stupid, Neirin," Maliris snapped back, folding her arms over her chest, glancing quickly at the Kierans who had led them into the cave. "The fact that they don't speak the mother tongue doesn't mean they all can't _understand_ it. And all is not as it seems."

Vehtra stepped forward, wearing an odd little smile. "Indeed. Roshan speaks the truth, and you'd be wise to heed her. All is _never_ as it seems in the desert. Come." He approached a carved disk on the ground, carefully inlaid with a beautiful mosaic. "I'll show you our barbarian palace, beggar king."

With varying degrees of hesitation, six of them joined Vehtra on the disk. The Kierans who had served as their escort through the city didn't join them; they turned and began the walk back into the city. Kuja looked curiously at the disk beneath his feet; it looked to be the Terran emblem. Strange to see such familiar symbols in such an unfamiliar place. He understood suddenly what the books had always said, about how Terra was a unified world – despite the diversity of her continents and the worlds she assimilated, Terra remained _one_ entity. What he _couldn't_ understand, though, was what the emblem beneath his feet meant, and why they'd been asked to stand on-

The world erupted into blue.

Swirling blue runes shifted before Kuja's very eyes, and he stared at them as the world just beyond flickered out of focus. He felt his body rise, catch somewhere in midair, then fall, without ever having moved at all… and then the blue runes reappeared, swirling downward this time. When the runes faded, the world around him had changed.

He blinked, taking in the changes. What the runes had revealed was a brilliantly gaudy _location_; a room filled with all manner of color and decoration. The walls themselves were crafted in illuminated glass fashioned into elaborate shapes and patterns, though from where the light came, Kuja couldn't imagine. They stood on a platform near what seemed to be the highest visible point in the structure (when he dared a glance over the side of the balcony, Kuja saw spiraling stairwells, balconies that branched off into unimaginable rooms, and far below, burning magma), and it was clear the intended reaction was _awe_. At the far end of their balcony sat an empty throne.

"Welcome to the jewel in the desert's crown," Vehtra said, spreading his arms as if to indicate the entire room. "A palace built from stolen jewels and gold, bound by runes and magic into the very walls of the mountains themselves."

Neirin looked around, his eyes glowing appreciatively. "Jewel of the desert's crown, indeed," he murmured. "How is such a place even possible?"

"Centuries ago, our forefathers found the cavern outside, and the location it led to." Vehtra smiled, steepling his hands. "It led to a treasure trove, likely hidden there in some previous cycle; a vast collection of gold, silver, and all manner of precious and semiprecious gems. Naturally they sold much of it, and what they didn't sell, they put to use. They further dug out the cavern, making it as wide and tall as possible without breaching the cavern walls." He spread his arms again, smiling proudly. "No one knows, my young friend, where the physical bulk of this palace lies. We suspect it lies within the heart of our own mountain range, but who can say? Perhaps it is on your own continent. Perhaps it is on another. Perhaps it lies in the world beyond our world. We know only that the runes carry us here and back."

The king nodded. "Runic magic is bound by location."

"Indeed." Vehtra nodded. "Our sages have laid runes of their own, to the best of their understanding, which can lead us to other places within the palace. It is a vast and confusing place, not easily traversed on foot."

"Vast and empty," Lich pointed out, frowning. "Is this common? No servants, no attendants?" He gestured toward the empty throne, his frown deepening. "Even your king seems absent."

Tiamat nodded, shifting from one foot to another uneasily. "A poor sort of sanctuary this'd prove to be. There are no guards."

"No need," Kraken realized, and Maliris nodded.

"No guards, because no one can get in without the approval of those within the palace walls," Maliris confirmed, smiling. "It serves as less of a _home_ for the king, and more of a safehouse should the need arise. It's vast enough to house what passes for nobility in Kiera, and it's impenetrable from the outside." She grinned smugly, rocking back on her heels. "It is the _perfect_ sanctuary, Tiamat, so shut the hell up, won't you?"

Tiamat grunted, but said nothing.

Lich seemed unsatisfied, however, fussing with the skulls at his throat. "We came to speak to the king, however," he reminded Maliris. "And that seems a difficult task if the king is not present."

"As to that," Vetra said, hobbling toward the throne. "_I_ am the King of Kiera, and I accept your plea for sanctuary." He sat on the throne, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Though I have heard rumors of the abilities of your bloodline, King Neirin," he added, grinning. "And I think my city and I may see fit to beg certain boons of you in the days to come."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh hell yes, I just worked the Desert Palace (which is the source of about ninety percent of the questions that inspired this goddamn story) into a fic. Oh yes I did.


	23. Mother Terra

**Just saying:** Sometimes I worry that some of my references are too obscure and maybe you all haven't played the game recently enough (or paid enough obsessive attention – _shut up I do too have a life_.) to pick up on them. So, in the spirit of sharing my obsession, I'll tell you all what I told WiREP: Kiera is not a reference to Cleyra; it's a much more obscure reference. Load up a game of FFIX, go to the desert near the Desert Palace, and check your menu screen to find out the name of the desert. There you go!  
Alternatively, play the whole game again and pay extra-close attention to disks three and four (and some parts of disk two). Some of the little things may just jump out and bite you. c:

**Author's Note:** Two extra pages! Or: four extra pages of non-Neirin-and-Kuja-related material!  
Midnight the Black Fox, Maliris is pretty good at telling Tiamat to shut up. I'm pretty sure it's one of her hobbies. And I'm glad you liked the ending! Blacktepes, you're right, you really can't get too fond of anyone in this fic. No, seriously, _no one_ is getting out of this fic in especially good shape. Sure, some people _live_, but it's not the sort of life anyone actually _wants_. XitaUnlucky, I think Neirin is just kind of generally stuck on himself. He might be vaguely aware that there are other kings out there, but for the most part, his world revolves around the mother continent (for obvious reasons). And WiREP, I love Maliris's people, too. There isn't much of them in this chapter, but rest assured, they're going to be in the desert for a good long while, so there's plenty of time for Maliris's people to show their stuff. ;3

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Mother Terra

* * *

**

The captain of the proud ship _Mother Terra_ stood at the helm, whistling merrily despite the foul weather overhead. There was a storm brewing, and if the captain had any sense, he supposed he'd listen to his navigator and turn the damn ship around and head back to Vachest. Unfortunately, he had no sense – besides, he rather _liked_ foul-weather voyages. Ocean-crossing ships like the _Mother _had only been commonplace for perhaps three or four years now, after all: the captain could still convince himself he was braving the new world, seeking out new and fantastic locations that had never before been seen by the eye of mankind. Never mind the fact that much of the _Mother_'s time was spent shuttling back and forth between the arid Erras Continent and Vachest; never mind that the captain hadn't tasted the open sea since that first daring expedition two years ago.

When he sailed through a storm like the one blossoming overhead, he could _remember_ the feeling of really _living_; of not knowing whether or not he'd live to see the sun rise again. So he ignored his fretting navigator and kept the ship pointed toward Erras, and continued whistling.

"Master Taharka would be furious," the navigator, a scrawny mouse of a man, squeaked. "You're endangering his precious cargo."

"A few big rocks." The captain grinned.

"They're not _rocks,_" the navigator said, flustered. "They're-"

The captain grinned even wider. "A few big, _fancy _rocks, then. The storm isn't like to hurt 'em, no more'n it'll hurt the ship. Shut up n' pay attention to our course."

That was the end of that; the navigator seldom argued when reminded of his duties. The captain wasn't terribly concerned for their cargo; he'd carried more fragile things in his time. He only wished he knew what the enormous crystal disks and other such carved-crystal oddities were for. It seemed to him they were awfully valuable to be shuttling over to pitiful little desert-ridden Erras, where the thieves in Kiera would likely steal them off the ship before he even made landfall.

Maybe that was the idea?

The captain raised an eyebrow as the thought occurred to him that perhaps that _was _the idea. Master Taharka was a clever devil; maybe he _wanted_ the crystals stolen. Mayhap they were cursed or somesuch. Taharka was an alchemist, and he'd been studying all manner of odd things in his haunted floating castle; it wasn't impossible that he'd uncovered some ancient curse and repurposed it for use against his enemies. It made the captain wary of the cargo; after all, he'd handled it while it was moving on and off of the ship. What if it _was _cursed? What if he'd been cursed, himself? He had no interest in stealing the crystals – he was a follower of Taharka's doctrine, after all; they were all to be reborn in new and immortal bodies, and _that_, the captain felt, was a sufficient enough reward – but curses were never especially picky about that sort of thing.

As if sensing his unease and wishing to alleviate it, the skies began to release their first fat, refreshing raindrops. They pattered against the deck, gently at first, then rising to a swift tempo. The captain smiled, looking out over the ocean, watching the rain dance across the waves. Soon the wind would come, and then the thunder and the lightning, and with them the lurching waves and the shrieking banshees through the sails. He watched the speckled ocean surface, annoyed by the sudden intrusion of a piece of driftwood floating along the surface.

_Wait, that's no driftwood._

"Man overboard!" He called over the sound of the rain, pointing toward the body – no, _bodies_, there were two – floating nearby, just within the ship's reach. The deck exploded into activity. Several men yelled uselessly over the side, hoping to rouse the floaters, but the two were very clearly either dead or unconscious. At last a pair of men dived in, ropes lashed around their waists, and swam out to the unconscious strangers. The captain watched anxiously – why, this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in _years_ – as the two people were pulled aboard.

They were an odd pair: a man and a young woman, both half-drowned and nearly frozen to death. There was no telling how long they'd been floating; a day or two at least, the captain would've wagered, judging by the state they were in. They were both clearly from the mother continent, which begged the question of just what the hell they were doing out in the middle of the ocean like this; they were quite a ways from any port and didn't look to be sailors besides. The captain knew most of the crews of the ships that passed through this route (and several others), and he didn't think he recognized either of the pair… nor did he recall any recent shipwrecks being reported.

This was a mystery.

"There was a dragon with 'em, Captain," one of the rescuers offered, stripping out of his own wet clothes, never mind the rain. "Dead dragon, mixed breed."

The captain glanced at him, then down at the strangers. They didn't look wealthy enough to own a dragon. "Quite a few dragons flew from Astrula, I hear." Maybe this pair'd managed to find one, and thought to fly to Erras for whatever reason. Lovers, perhaps, hoping to escape from some discontentment at home. The girl was a fair sight younger than the man, after all. It'd make more sense than most other possibilities. The captain shrugged. "See them to the healer. Then get back to your posts."

The storm was getting worse now, and the navigator stood beside the helm, looking wet and surly. The captain laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Cheer up," he shouted over the thunder, turning the ship hard against the wild wind and rain pummeling them. "All goes well, maybe she'll be of a bedding mood, eh?"

xxx

There was a great deal to be said for falling asleep with the sure assumption that the morning would never come, only to wake again in an unfamiliar and altogether _different_ place, in an entirely different state than the one you'd fallen asleep in.

Elisi found she didn't care a great deal for it. She opened her eyes groggily, still gagging on the taste of salt water at the back of her throat, and took in her surroundings. A small room, she observed, with sparse enough décor and not a great deal of furnishings: the simple bed she lay in (the bed, she noted, was actually a cot on the floor, bolted to the wall), a simple desk, and a burned-down candle fastened firmly to the desk. There was no window, and she watched in despair as the candle flickered weakly. Where was she? Was this… was this what death was like?

She rolled out of bed to approach the candle, and discovered her clothes were gone. Horrified, she grabbed up the thin blanket from the bed, clutching it to her chest to cover herself. _Where the hell were her clothes? _ The ground shifted beneath her feet, and she fell to the floor, looking around in terrified confusion. An earthquake?

Slowly but surely, reality and logic returned to her, and she realized she must be at sea, on a ship. But _what _ship, and whose? And where were they? Elisi sat up slowly, eyeing the door to her small room. Was it locked? …Even if it wasn't, she didn't dare go out; not dressed only in a _bedsheet_, for the love of He-Who-Sees-All; she wasn't brilliant, but she wasn't stupid. She clutched the sheet tightly, climbing awkwardly and somewhat unsteadily to her feet. Carefully winding the sheet more securely around herself, Elisi sat on her little cot, watching the candle flicker.

Where was Kuja? Had his dragon survived? Elisi closed her eyes, remembering the horrible moment when the black sea rushed up to swallow them. Jalen had saved her life, cutting away the straps of the harness at the last moment, otherwise they'd have been dragged down with the dead dragon. When the carcass had floated to the surface at dawn, it was Jalen who suggested they cling to it, lest they grow too weak to float, themselves. Elisi had been too cold and tired to protest.

Where was _Jalen_?

Elisi rose to her feet with sudden determination; if nothing else, she had to find out what had become of Jalen. She walked to the door, took a deep breath, and tested the handle.

It opened.

She peeked out cautiously, clutching her bedsheet-dress as tightly and securely as she could manage. Outside was a maze of hanging hammocks, some occupied with snoring men, most not. Satisfied that no one was likely to see her, she crept as silently as Maliris had been able to teach her to, heading toward the nearby stairwell. At the top was a hatch. Elisi swallowed, pushing it up as slowly as she could manage, peering out beneath the crack.

To her immediate horror, there were a great deal of _men_ on the deck, but why she was surprised, she couldn't begin to say. Where _else_ would the crew be? She swallowed, steeling what resolve she still possessed, and pushed the hatch open, allowing her head to surface.

"Well, look who's finally woke up!" A great arm swept down and seized her wrist, hoisting her into the air. Elisi clung desperately to her bedsheet-gown, kicking her legs in a somewhat aimless attempt to kick her assailant. The man set her on her feet, at which point she toppled onto the deck, still clinging to her dress. The man who had lifted her, a great bear of a man, simply laughed, offering her a hand. "No need t' panic, milady. The _Mother Terra _is the finest vessel there is, and her crew is beyond… er, beyond…"

"Reproach," a rather reproachful-looking mouse of a man supplied, and the bear-man nodded, grinning.

"Ra-proach, that's right. We were wondering when you'd wake up; y'been asleep for close on two days now." He leaned close, and Elisi leaned away, still staring at him as if she expected he might eat her at any moment, which she did. He shook his head. "I can't rightly blame you for being afraid, I s'pose. I'm the captain of the _Mother_, though, an' any man lays a hand on you gets to answer to _me_."

Elisi nodded. "There was a man with me," she managed, forcing as much steel into her voice as she could manage. She managed perhaps a thimbleful.

The captain grinned. "Jalen? He woke up about a half hour ago, and he's been tormenting my crew for every minute of it." He wound an arm around her shoulders, and chose to ignore the way she attempted to shrink away. "I expect you'll be wanting to see 'im; I'll accomp'ny you."

And accompany her he did, across the entire ship, which seemed inordinately large rather suddenly, and rather full of leering men who didn't seem to find it at all rude to openly stare at her, nor did they seem to mind the fact that she looked an absolute mess . Elisi miserably clutched her makeshift dress as close as possible, wishing that before taking her to see Jalen, the captain would have at least bothered to offer her _clothing_. Instead of complaining, though, she chose to keep her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself, no matter _how_ badly she simply wanted to throw herself to the ground and cry and demand to know where the hell Kuja and Kraken were.

She heard Jalen before she saw him, laughing and jesting with the crew at the far end of the ship's deck. He grinned widely when he saw her, striding forward and winding an arm around her waist, effectively retrieving her from the captain. "Ah, there's my lady love," he declared, to which she stared in reply.

"So you _are _lovers?" The captain grinned, congratulating himself on guessing correctly. "I expected as much. Fleeing from the mother continent, was it?"

Jalen nodded, pulling Elisi close. Confused, she struggled, trying to pull away. The captain eyed her. "Seems to me the lady begs to offer a different opinion."

"Well, as to that," Jalen gave a wicked grin and patted Elisi's cheek with his free hand. "I hadn't exactly _told _her we were lovers yet, you see."

The captain laughed uproariously, and the rest of the crew joined in. Elisi felt panic rising within her, and her eyes darted around frantically, searching for some exit; some escape. She could throw herself overboard. How far could the swim be, really? Jalen seemed to sense her panic, however, and seized a handful of her bedsheet dress at her hip. Elisi's heart sank. She could run, but she'd be running naked. This day had gone from bad to worse, and she had the feeling there was an immense joke at play here, and she wasn't in on it.

The captain finally recovered his wits. "So. I take it _you're_ the one fleeing, then?"

Jalen nodded. "Right. The girl had family in Astrula, and I'd rather not take the chance on them surviving." He smiled. "I grabbed her while the city burned. Saved her life, probably."

"Astrula. That'd explain the dragon." The captain nodded, once again congratulating himself on a correct guess. He grinned. "Master Taharka frowns on survivors, but there's call for builders on Erras, if you can be persuaded."

Jalen made a show of considering it, all while stroking Elisi's hair with the hand that wasn't fixing her in place. She stared helplessly at the ocean, wishing she were armed, or at the very least, courageous enough to not mind diving into the ocean stark naked. "Erras, eh? I was headed to Kiera, myself; I'm something of a thief, you could say." He grinned cheekily, tugging on a lock of Elisi's short silver hair. "But if I could serve Master Taharka, why, that's an opportunity that doesn't present itself often enough, isn't it?"

Elisi struggled not to scream.

"It is indeed," the captain agreed, nodding somberly. "I'm in his service as we speak, carrying a cargo of great worth. I feared for its safety during the storm." From the corner of her eye, Elisi saw the mouselike man's expression sour, but he said nothing. "It fared well enough, though, and will be delivered safe and sound sometime tomorrow. It's been my honor to serve."

It was enough to make Elisi want to vomit, and perhaps Jalen realized as much. "I'll certainly consider the opportunity," he allowed, bowing his head slightly. "If you don't mind, Captain, I think my lady friend and I would like to retire for a bit. And," he added, glancing down at Elisi, who simply continued to stare at the ocean, wondering how much she valued her dignity. "Some proper clothes wouldn't be turned away, either."

They were led back to the little room Elisi had awakened in, now with a fresh candle. The mouse-man brought a change of clothes – they were men's clothing and ill-fitting for it, but Elisi was happy for _anything_ that wasn't a bedsheet. She sat miserably on the bed, wondering what she'd gotten herself into, and whether or not it was worth it. _Taharka is on Erras,_ she realized, the facts only just beginning to sink in. Taharka was on Erras… and if they'd managed to get there, so were Kuja, Kraken, and the others. She drew her knees to her chest, and sobbed quietly. For every step ahead they managed to make, they fell a dozen steps behind; Taharka was ahead of them at every turn.

"Oh, don't cry," Jalen said, stepping into the tiny room. He knelt in front of the bed, taking one of her hands in both of his. "I'm not _really_ abducting you; you should know _that_ much-"

"It's not _that,_" Elisi snapped, lifting her head and wiping away her tears. "It's… Taharka is on the Erras Continent. So are the others." She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "What if they don't _know_? They're going there because it's supposed to be _safe_. What if Taharka finds out they're there before they realize _he's_ there? What if they…?" She couldn't bring herself to say the words, but it wasn't necessary.

Jalen sat beside her on the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Then gods help Taharka," he replied with false merriment. "Because that little brat Kuja won't let him get far."

Despite everything, it made her laugh.

xxx

"I didn't _know_," Maliris was explaining for the hundredth time, irritation mingling with the exasperation in her tone. "If I knew Vehtra was the king, I'd have said as much. I don't keep secrets."

Tiamat rounded on her, livid. "How could you _not _know?" He demanded. "You're _one_ of them! How the hell could you _not_ know who your own damn king is?" He pounded on the elegantly-carved wooden desk, and Neirin visibly flinched (likely for the sake of the furniture; he'd taken a liking to the palace in general), but Tiamat ignored him. "You were probably just waiting for us to say something foolish-"

"Foolish?" Maliris laughed, looking up from the process of sharpening one of her sabers. "_Foolish?_ Did you even _listen_ to half the things our own twice-damned king was spouting? Enough to have us all beheaded if Vehtra were feeling _kind_. 'Barbarians,' indeed."

Kuja had already fished his way through the palace's rather magnificent library, and was settled in a corner of the study, happily reading the ancient texts (many of them were in languages he didn't quite grasp yet, but he was determined to learn them eventually). All the same, he glanced up from his current fixation, eyeing Maliris curiously.

"Why _didn't _you know who he was?" He asked, curiously.

Maliris glanced at him, shaking her head. "Why does it take a _child_ to ask the easy questions?"

"Why does it take a child asking the questions for you to provide the answers?" Lich countered, but she ignored him.

"The royal succession here isn't nearly as cut-and-dry as the one you're all familiar with. It's not hereditary." She sat on the desk, looking specifically at Tiamat, who had raged at her for nearly an hour. "Kiera has two kings." She held up one finger. "The first is the Thief King. _That_ is a position held for life, and passed on to whomever the current Thief King chooses. The heir can change at any given moment, and usually does. He who holds the Thief King's favor today may lose it tomorrow." She held up a second finger. "The second is simply called Kiera's King. And _that_ is also a position held for life, though the only way to claim it is to kill whoever came before you." She shrugged, resuming scraping a stone along the side of her sword. "When last I was here, a different king held the throne. Apparently Vehtra killed him."

Neirin stared, torn between horror and fascination. "And you claim you aren't barbarians."

She grinned, the serpent on her cheek snarling. "It's the only way to be sure we're always led by the strongest and boldest among us."

Kuja wasn't certain how an old man like Vehtra qualified as the _strongest_ among the Kierans, but if he'd managed to kill the previous king, he was certainly bold. He sighed, returning his attention to his book. It was in two languages, and fortunately, one of them happened to be the mother tongue. He tried using it to translate the other half, but found it was beyond him. Still, what he could read of it was interesting enough; it seemed to be a brief history of the continent. There wasn't a great deal of history to it; from what he could gather, a large part of the continent now consisted of ruins and wastelands. Kiera was one of the few cities to survive the last assimilation, and the only one to stand the test of time.

"What of these boons Vehtra hinted at?" Lich fiddled with the skulls at his throat, frowning. "Obviously they're magical in nature; otherwise why make a point of mentioning Neirin's bloodline? You don't suppose he wants us to fight directly against Taharka?"

"He'll be disappointed," Neirin said wryly, turning up his hands. "I don't know half of what I'm doing when I do it, and even if I did, Taharka's got his stone. I'm afraid I'd be a bit useless in a battle." His eyes darkened. "Which isn't to say I wouldn't be willing to tear the bastard's throat out with my bare hands if given the chance."

Maliris nodded her approval, as did Tiamat, but Lich frowned. "We're not about to allow you that close to Taharka." No one bothered to explain that Neirin hadn't necessarily been _serious_, which was just as well, as Lich showed no sign of caring. "If he expects our aid in combat, Neirin, you're having no part of it. Not without much more extensive training, and even then I have my reservations."

"Well, what do we do then, hm?" Maliris slid down from her perch on the desk, sheathing the sword she'd been sharpening. "We can't tell Vehtra we don't want to help him; not after he all but _gave _us his palace."

"A palace he hardly deserves," Neirin interjected, but Maliris ignored him.

"Let's not be hasty in deciding we won't help," she continued, shrugging one shoulder. "If it's aid in battle he wants, he's got four warriors and one semi-competent mage who isn't going anywhere near the battlefield. If he wants something else… well, then we'll see."

Kuja was moderately irritated that he wasn't mentioned among the would-be battle party, but he supposed that was to be expected and forgiven. He tried to focus on his book, but the conversation at hand had become much more entertaining.

Tiamat sighed, shaking his head. "It's looking more like _three_ warriors, at this point," he pointed out, looking around. "Kraken hasn't surfaced for hours now." The faintest hint of concern crept into his tone, try though he might to sound untroubled. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, eyeing the doorway. "I could go look for her."

"Not necessary," Maliris replied, half-smiling. "She's still sleeping. It helps her."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, during which Kuja felt the pain of Elisi's absence sting his chest and throat anew. It had been easier to forget when things were moving and chaotic, but now that they'd fallen into a state of idleness again, things were difficult to forget or set aside. Kuja had settled on losing himself in books; Kraken had slept since their arrival. The others had taken to arguing and snapping at one another, though even Neirin seemed subdued, despite his obvious love for their new sanctuary.

Kuja hadn't attempted to speak to the king yet; it always seemed too much, too soon, too sudden, too forced. What was there to talk about? All topics seemed to circulate back to the dead dragon they'd left on the shoreline; to the dragon they'd been unable to save at sea and the lives that had gone with it. Anything that didn't eventually lead to that led instead to Taharka. Kuja was content to talk about _anything_ but Taharka, and he had a feeling Neirin felt much the same. Still, it would have been nice to reach something approaching normalcy: it would have been nice to be able to talk to Neirin again about some stupid, inconsequential thing.

But how in the world would he go about bringing such a thing up in the first place?

Tiamat broke the silence, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Still. I think someone should check in on her." He shifted his weight to his other foot. "She shouldn't be alone while she's mourning."

Something in Maliris's expression softened, and she shook her head, sighing. "Go see to her, Tiamat. Remind her there's something left in the world to give a damn about."

Without waiting for further permission, the guardian left, leaving Lich and Maliris gazing after him.

"Still something left in the world to give a damn about," Maliris repeated, sighing. "Sometimes it's hard to remember." She rubbed her temples, looking older than ever before – and feeling it, as well.

"Perhaps we should all get some rest," Lich suggested, placing a hand on Maliris's shoulder. "We're all exhausted, after all; we've spent an entire day in flight. It's a wonder we haven't all simply collapsed." He looked at Neirin, who simply nodded; the king was just as tired as his guardians, if not more so – attempting to heal a dying dragon had taken entirely too much out of him. Silently, the two guardians made their way out of the room, retreating from their duties, their losses, and their memories, if only for the rest of the night.

Kuja and Neirin sat in silence for a moment that stretched on for entirely too long. Kuja tried to concentrate on his books, but was unable to do so. For his part, Neirin seemed to become overly fascinated by the dent Tiamat's fist had left in the polished surface of the desk. He picked at the splintering around the edges, frowning. Kuja turned a page he hadn't even read yet, only to realize belatedly that he _hadn't_ read the previous page, and thus was forced to turn it back and start from the very beginning. And then he realized he hadn't read _that_ page.

Frustrated, he closed the book altogether. Perhaps _he_ would simply go to bed. He was tired, after all.

"We need to talk," Neirin said suddenly, not looking up from his picking at the desk.

Kuja looked up, surprised. "Oh," he managed awkwardly. "About what?"

Neirin heaved an exasperated sigh, tearing himself away from the desk and falling against the nearest wall as if standing were too much of an effort. "Anything," he replied, throwing his hands in the air. "Your shoes, my stupid ideas, the weather, this palace, this _city_, just _anything_, but we need to _talk_."

For the space of a heartbeat, Kuja wasn't sure what the king was talking about, and it occurred to him a second before it was too late that the entire _point_ was that Neirin wasn't talking about anything at all in particular, and that it was wonderful, and that it was the very opening he'd been so desperately wanting to find for himself all day.

"I could tell you about my books," the boy offered, for he could think of nothing else _to_ offer. "They're mostly history, but…"

Neirin sank to the floor, smiling wearily. "History sounds fantastic."

Kuja rose from his seat and walked to sit beside the king, who leaned over to get a better look at the books, though there was nothing especially interesting to see on the pages themselves. He began summarizing each chapter, pointing in turn to the bare bits and pieces of the foreign languages he'd managed to translate (the amount wasn't especially impressive); when he reached parts _he _hadn't read yet, he simply read aloud. Throughout the session, Kuja nestled further and further against Neirin, so that by the time he finally reached the end of the section he'd been reading, he was very nearly sitting in the king's lap, with Neirin's head resting gently against the top of his head.

It wasn't until he finished reading that Kuja realized the king was fast asleep, and he wondered how long he'd gone on reading to a sleeping audience.

It didn't matter.

He yawned, set the book aside, and fell asleep where he sat, content with the knowledge that for at least one night, things were as they should be.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh, come on, they deserve a little happycute from time to time in their lives of nonstop pain.

Next week: Back to your regularly-scheduled nonstop pain.


	24. Invincible

**Author's Note:** Some of you may have noticed there was no chapter last week. My computer ate last week's chapter (I swear I saved it several times. I _swear_.), and I lacked the motivation to write it again that night, and I had absolutely no time to write it the rest of the week. The bad news is, this is not the same chapter I wrote last week. The good news is, it's better and more interesting than what I had for last week, which was a filler chapter that was more or less an expanded version of the first paragraph of the Neirin-centric bit in this chapter. This one actually has plot. And Elisi, because I have no idea why I decided to put her plot point off last week, when it makes so much more sense to just get it started now.  
_Do not complain about the lateness of the chapter. I swear to god you will get an angry PM from me and it will be all Wrath of God up in here. College is a bitch and, frankly, so am I._

Blacktepes, if anyone _wants_ to try doing this as a manga or doujin, I'd be absolutely honored (if anyone takes me up on that, send me a PM; I want to see how it turns out!), but most of my artistic friends are too busy for such a massive project right at the moment. WiREP, I'm glad you're happy to see Elisi and Jalen are still alive, for however much longer that lasts! And yeah, it's mostly a coincidence that Kiera resembles Treno, though that… kind of works out, really. Also I love long reviews. XitaUnlucky, I'm glad you like twists, because yeah, this fic could've really been titled "FFIX Origins: Twists!". And yeah, politics yay. And warm fuzzies yay. They deserve cute warm fuzzy moments from time to time, considering all the hell I drag them through. Clement Rage, if the King falls off a building, then he wasn't an especially good king and was furthermore an idiot. Presumably there's a tournament of some kind to decide the new king. And if you do write something where there's a long conversation about Kuja's shoes, let me know (because seriously, in the game, what the hell is up with the boy's shoes?). Midnight the Black Fox, Iiiii was totally channeling Baku while writing for the captain. This doesn't _mean _anything (no, really, Baku has a Gaian soul; Gaia doesn't even _have_ souls at this point), but it was a source of inspiration.

And with that ridiculously long AN out of the way, on with the (late) chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Invincible**

In the wasteland of the Erras continent, far beyond the mountain range that protected the city of Kiera, a structure was growing. It was a structure unlike anything Terra had seen in this cycle – indeed, unlike anything this cycle would _ever_ see. It was a dome on top; a dome that plunged deep into the earth through an ever-expanding series of tunnels and caverns. The caverns were empty now, but soon – very soon – they would be filled with the most remarkable of objects: memories. Histories. Records of Terra's past, preserved in the most reliable, foolproof method Taharka had been able to develop using the ancient technologies found in Archae One and Pandemonium. They were similar to the record-keeping crystal spheres that had been creeping their way into popular use in the later days of Traje, but far more advanced: they could record _anything_ the recorder set their mind to, and hold the information indefinitely.

"Impressive," Jalen whistled, as the full ship's crew and nearly the whole of the building site's crew dragged out the largest of the crystals: an immense red disk shaped a bit like a lens, easily nearly the entire width of the ship in diameter. It was a wonder they were able to remove it from the ship without necessitating the removal of the entire side of the hull. "What's it for?"

The captain shrugged, watching the disk's slow progress toward the growing building. "Hard to say." He gestured toward the building. "I've heard rumors Master Taharka's plannin' on building his airship fleet out here, though. Makes sense; lots o' space out here, and no one but the thieves to bother 'im." His gaze slid toward the moving crystal disk. "A stone that size? Building's too small to hold it. Probably gonna be used for an airship somehow."

"Or an especially grand skylight." Jalen shrugged, unimpressed. "What does an airship need a crystal disk for, anyway? Decoration?"

The captain shrugged. "It's not going in the building," he said flatly. "'s all I know." He glanced at Elisi, who glowered back. "What're your thoughts, milady?"

"I have no thoughts." Upon their arrival, Elisi had been spirited away by the women working at the site. They saw to it that she was properly bathed and clothed, and seemed utterly unconvinced by her story that Jalen had abducted her from Astrula as it burned. They quite rightly pointed out that she'd have been better served by shoving him off of the dragon in mid-flight – and that if she had _truly _been abducted, she wouldn't have "found out" on the ship; she'd have known well ahead of time. Elisi tried to persuade the women that she'd simply been stunned in the wake of her home's destruction – indeed, too stunned to even _notice_ she was being kidnapped – but they were having none of it. As such, they sent her scuttling back to Jalen's side, where she stood sulking, seething with the knowledge that the entire female half of the building crew thought she was a whore who had run away from home, leaving her burning family and home in her wake.

The captain persisted. "You must think _something_."

She scowled in a way that would have made Maliris proud, and folded her arms over her chest. "I think Taharka's got his own plans, and no interest in sharing them with underlings," she snapped. "If we were meant to know, he'd tell us."

That shut the captain up.

Truth be told, though, Elisi was worried. She watched as the workers lowered the disk carefully to the ground, then covered it with several heavy sheets, enough to cover the entire disk. The captain was right: sitting next to the building, the diameter of the disk was easily larger than that of the building itself. Perhaps it could fit within one of the underground caverns (she'd seen only the caverns that remained above-ground), but there was no telling how they would manage to _get_ it there. Doubtless Taharka had something else in mind for an object that large.

And doubtless it would serve as no end of bad news for Neirin and the others.

Elisi watched the workers return and carry out still more crystals, these smaller and spherical. "So many crystals," she mused. "And no one knows what they're for?"

"Aye," the captain agreed, nodding. "No one but Master Taharka."

xxx

Neirin spent the next three days exploring every room the palace had to offer. He took to prowling the palace's hallways, testing everywhere he could for traces of runic magic – and indeed, some places carried him to new and seemingly undeveloped rooms. He also found that lighting candles occasionally opened new paths, doubtless some _other_ type of magic he couldn't yet identify for himself. His explorations were a source of endless exasperation for Maliris, who pleaded in vain for Vehtra to put an end to them. The old man didn't seem to mind Neirin nosing his way into every secret, well-hidden room he came across. Indeed, Vehtra's lack of forbiddance seemed a great deal like encouragement to Neirin's mind, and in the spirit of taking advantage of an advantageous situation, Neirin redoubled his efforts to discover every secret the palace held.

Of a certainty, it occurred to him on more than one occasion that perhaps this was what Vehtra wanted from him: to seek out the parts of the palace that he himself had not yet uncovered.

And yet, that didn't seem nearly worth considering a _boon_; most of the paths he'd uncovered were largely useless, and Neirin found it hard to believe that in all the time Vehtra had spent in and around the palace, he hadn't once lit a candle.

Still, so long as no one told him to stop (with the unimportant exception of his guardians, naturally), Neirin was content to explore his magnificently garish sanctuary, reveling in the grand madness that seemed to rule the palace.

Kuja, of course, could typically be found in the library, where he continued his attempt to learn the desert language. Why he thought it might be useful, Neirin couldn't say… which wasn't to say he didn't indulge himself in a few lessons, himself. Much to Kuja's disgruntled dismay, the king was a quick study: he learned the language rather faster than the boy, or at least the words. In truth, Neirin wasn't fully certain of the _meaning_ of most of the words, but he enjoyed the way they looked and sounded; he liked to roll the exotic syllables around with his tongue; he liked to draw the strange symbols and letters. He tried to pass on the knowledge to his frustrated young companion, but it was no good; Kuja simply couldn't pronounce the words.

"You can read them, though," Neirin pointed out, smiling neutrally. "I have no idea what they mean."

Kuja scowled at his book, muttering the words under his breath. When he came to the end of the page, he glanced up. "Well, _this _is a book on magic," he informed the king, with a sly grin. "I bet you want to know what they say _now_."

Neirin yawned. "Oh, I expect you'll read it to me." He knew Kuja well – well enough to know the boy would go mad with useful information rattling around uselessly in his skull. It was all a matter of waiting patiently until…

"You're horrible." Kuja sighed, shaking his head. "_Fine_. Most of it seems to be about 'condensing' magic." He glanced back up from the book, his green eyes watching Neirin for any sign that the king knew what in the world this meant. He received no such sign. With a sigh, Kuja skimmed the page again. "'Condensing magic,'" he read. "'Refers to the skill of bringing together enough concentrated energy to form a solid object or field.' It sounds like it's an advanced skill," Kuja added, flipping the page. "A great deal of magic is required to _do_ it, let alone _maintain_ it for long."

"That sounds like a challenge." Neirin smiled, drumming his fingertips lightly on his arm. "What else does it say?"

The book went on to detail the processes and general tedium of condensing magic, and when all was said and done, Kuja thought it all sounded incredibly boring. He yawned, setting the book aside and sneezing in the dust that collected around the two of them. "It's less interesting than I thought it'd be," he confessed, looking up at Neirin.

To his surprise, the king looked decidedly _not_ bored, and in fact Neirin simply picked the book back up and flipped through it to find the diagrams and unreadable instructions they'd been looking at only moments before. "It's a bit like alchemy," the king murmured, tracing his finger along the lines of one such diagram, which depicted a monolith resembling a tombstone. "But without the alchemy part. Using magic to _create_ things…" He laughed suddenly, closing the book and hugging it against his chest. Kuja stared, bewildered. Neirin winked at him, then opened the book yet again, this time to a sketch of several small stones. "I always thought magic as I use it was a purely destructive force, never a constructive one."

"But what use does it serve?" Kuja frowned, leaning over and looking at the stones. _Bloodstones,_ read the caption beneath the image. "What could _this_ do that normal magic couldn't?"

Neirin thought on it for a moment. "Linger."

"What?"

The king frowned, uncertain of how to explain the concept to someone who had little idea how magic worked on the most elementary level. "Think of it… like water," he began. Kuja offered nothing but a blank stare. Neirin tried again. "If you pour water on a surface, it spreads out and eventually goes away altogether. If you freeze that water, though, and put ice on the same surface, it remains in one place, and lingers."

Kuja nodded slowly, beginning to understand. "Normal magic is like the water, then?"

"A burst of energy." Neirin snapped his fingers. "A rapid explosion, useful only for a split second. Something like this-" He tapped the yellowed page of the book. "-Would be useful in making something useful in the _long_ term."

There was something mesmerizingly inspiring about the discovery, though just what it was, Neirin couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps it was simply the discovery of something _new_ that he hadn't known or thought of before; perhaps it was the possibility that this new discovery could be put to use against Taharka (though how, he hadn't the slightest clue). He studied the illegible text, wishing he could pry the meaning out of the old words without having to waste the time learning the written language. Frustrated by the words, he instead studied the images – old sketches drawn directly into the pages of the book itself; sketches of various stones and creations and even living beings, golems used for ancient wars.

He'd have gone on staring at the old pictures for hours if Kraken – who looked older and wearier than any living being had any right to look – hadn't interrupted.

"Vehtra wishes to speak to all of us." Her voice had gone raspy from lack of use. "Apparently it's time for that boon of his."

xxx

The first week of life on the construction site wasn't kind to Elisi. She spent much of her time ducking out of everyone else's way, and on more than one occasion she was simply outright shoved into the nearest corner or crevice that wasn't currently being used. The cultists had no time for her, which was just as well; she had no interest in speaking to any of them. They regarded her with suspicion – was she one of them? Was she one of Taharka's followers, or was she just abducted by one? They bore no such suspicions toward Jalen, who proved to be an unsettlingly good actor – he easily blended with the cultists, and they gladly accepted him: he was present at every ritual, he was invited to every feast (it seemed there was a feast every other night), he was asked to assist with every task.

Elisi didn't want to envy him for being friendly with the cultists, but it was difficult.

The days found her scuttling around, carrying water to the workers or sweeping up excess rock. Most of the time she was in the way. Elisi began to doubt any of the workers actually _knew_ her name; most of them simply called her "Outtatheway." The days were miserably hot, and at the worst part of the afternoon, there was no shade to be found outside of the building, and inside was stifling. She couldn't help feeling sorry for the men who worked on the tunnel shaft, for surely it grew to hellish temperatures within the earth. Her pale skin burned under the hot sun, and the other women suggested smearing grease on the worst of the burns. She didn't dare try it, for fear they were trying to trick her, for surely there was no love lost between her and the other women.

The nights should have been a relief – believing the two of them to be lovers, before his departure the captain had made certain that she and Jalen were afforded some small amount of privacy among the build site. And privacy they were given, but privacy came at a price: they slept wherever there was privacy to be _had_, and more often than not, that meant they slept in the most undesirable of places: against the wall where the wind blew fiercest, amidst a pile of working supplies that threatened to fall over at any moment, even once within the ever-deepening tunnel. Elisi's nights were restless; she always feared that whatever precarious sleeping position they'd chosen would be the death of them, and the cultists weren't likely to care.

Jalen offered some comfort, easy-going and confident as he was. He tried to assure her that of course he was only waiting for the opportune moment to slip away, after which they could leave the build site and reach the city of Kiera, which they knew _had_ to be Kuja and Neirin's destination.

Elisi tried to remain optimistic, but as the days wore on, she became more and more certain that she was never going to see Kuja again.

She sat wearily by the artificial oasis, trying half-heartedly to scrub at the laundry the other women had finally shoved on her in an exasperated attempt to get her out of the way. The sand never came out of the clothes, though, and the dust only turned to mud. Elisi hardly even bothered.

"You're not one of us, are you." The words were not a question. Elisi looked up slowly, only slightly surprised to find a young woman standing nearby, eying her. She recognized the woman from around the build site, though she didn't know her name (she did not, in fact, know _anyone's_ name). The woman frowned almost imperceptibly, stepping forward only a single step. "You don't serve Master Taharka. You're an impostor."

"I'm not pretending," Elisi snapped, more viciously than she'd intended to. "I was _kidnapped_."

"You're lying about that, too."

Elisi's blood ran cold. Who _was_ this woman, and what did she know? "You don't know what you're talking about," she tried, turning her attention back to the laundry, scrubbing at a stain on some indeterminate garment. "I was kidnapped from Astrula. My family died there. Taharka killed them," she added, hoping it might help to add a bit of credibility to her story.

It did not. "You're from the central region." The woman reached out and gave a lock of Elisi's silver hair a harsh tug that made the girl yelp. It brought a small smirk to the woman's lips. "And you're a half-soul, aren't you?"

_That _gave Elisi pause. She looked up again, blinking curiously. "Half… soul?"

"The pure souls are borne by the First Kings' descendants," the woman intoned, folding her hands in the universal manner of one reciting something for the thousandth time. "But only one living line remains true in both soul and blood."

"The royal family," Elisi blurted.

The woman nodded. "Yes." She pointed at Elisi. "And then there are the dead lines, the lines that branched off and sullied themselves. Bastard lines. The souls could not be reproduced in imperfect heirs, so they divided."

Elisi's expression shifted gradually from confusion to horror. "You're saying I have _half of a soul_?"

"Don't be stupid." The woman shook her head. "Had you a fractured soul, you'd be mad, dead, or both. No, not half of a soul, but half of a First Soul, fused with something else. A common soul, perhaps, or another fractured First Soul." She shrugged as if it were of no importance. "The result is the same, regardless of the other components. You have the power bestowed upon the First Souls, and none of the control."

"I can control it," Elisi said meekly. The extent of her "control" was pointing the right spell in the right direction.

The woman wasn't fooled. "You can't. What you _can_ do, however, is make yourself useful." Her blue eyes turned icy. "Master Taharka has need of power. Immense power. Before he sent me here, it was my purpose to _find_ a source of power." She pointed toward the build site, where the enormous crystal disk sat beneath its shield. "He has discovered how to power his airship fleet: the power of souls. He is now in Pandemonium, completing the ship itself. When he arrives on Erras in a matter of weeks…" She smiled, and Elisi shrunk away without intending to do so. "We will present him with the key to finishing his masterpiece: the flagship Invincible."

"And that key would be?" _I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know._

The woman looked back at her as if she were the most foolish, lowly creature alive. "A powerful half-soul," she replied flatly. "One with the power to bring life to the Invincible."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I swear there will be fewer Elisi-centric chapters in the future and I will never miss an update again. Unfortunately that means things are not going to go well for Elisi in the future.


	25. Plots and Secrets

**Author's Note:** So much POV jumping in this chapter. (And if the formatting is odd, that's because I lost my jump drive, which contained the chapter template for this fic. Shouldn't be anything too major, just spacing and such, maybe. I tried to fix most of it, if I caught it - if I missed anything, let me know, and I'll try to fix it in my shiny new template.)

Midnight the Black Fox, "poor Elisi" pretty much sums up her life throughout this entire fic. The girl doesn't get it easy. Blacktepes, if anything ever happens to me, an announcement would be posted; no worries (I considered posting an "I am not dead, just busy and cursed with bad luck" fake chapter, but people probably would have appreciated that less than the late chapter). And the ice metaphor is a little odd, anyway; don't worry too much about it. c: WiREP, I'm glad you got a new PS2! And yes, it does make sense that the woman at the end reminded you of Mikoto, because that's precisely who she is (I'm not so "NO I WILL NOT CONFIRM OR DENY ANYTHING" about that one, as the woman is a relatively minor character in the grand scheme of things). Pip, omigod you're back. ; A ; I was worried about you. I'd reply to all of your reviews, but there were like, six, and it's three in the morning as I'm writing this AN and I'm tired so I'm just going to say I read and enjoyed all of them and am so very happy you're back.

On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**  
By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Plans and Secrets**

Naturally, Neirin knew all of the shortcuts to reach Vehtra's throne. He used none of them. Kuja couldn't quite guess at his reasons for taking the longest route available, unless of course he was afraid – not, of course, that he'd dare to suggest as much. Nor could he blame the king for being nervous. There was no telling what Vehtra might ask of him; what would become of them if the man asked for something Neirin couldn't supply? They couldn't assist Kiera in a full-scale battle. They'd done well enough to survive on their own for this long, and they'd managed only to stay one step ahead of Taharka. They couldn't be responsible for the protection of an entire _city_.

When at last they reached Vehtra's throne at the very peak of the palace, however, Neirin didn't seem interested in wasting any more time.

"What is it you want?" He demanded, folding his arms over his chest. "I can't promise I'll be able to do whatever you ask of me, but if it lies within my power, I'll do what I can." Kuja glanced up at him. That was surprisingly diplomatic. Perhaps the extra-long walk had been spent coming up with the right words…?

The old man's lips twitched. "I'm not sure what you _expect_ me to ask of you," he replied, steepling his fingers. "Some grand gesture, perhaps? Do you expect me to send you off to war? Roshan tells me you're largely inexperienced in battle, and I am inclined to believe her." Maliris made no attempt to deny it, so the old king pressed on. "I'd have little to gain from throwing you to the wolves. No, I'm of a mind to keep you firmly within the protection these old walls provide." Vehtra looked around proudly at the palace that surrounded them like a garish fortress. "You won't protest the suggestion, I'm certain."

Indeed, Neirin couldn't find a good reason _to_ protest it. Nor, for that matter, could Kuja – Neirin had become fond of the palace, after all, for all he claimed it was fitting only for barbarians. If he had to pick an imprisoning sanctuary, Kuja supposed Neirin could do worse than this palace.

That still left the matter of the boon.

"Then what is it you want?" Neirin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "If you don't want us to fight, then what _do _you want from me?"

Vehtra rose from his throne, stepping to look over the balcony. "This palace is this city's last line of defense," he mused. "And yours, as well, it seems. Should Taharka manage to breach the city walls-"

"That can't happen," Maliris cut in, scowling.

The old man ignored her. "Should he breach the city walls, this palace is likely to be the one place anyone in the city can find safety, most importantly _you_," he added, glancing briefly at Neirin. "If he reaches _you_, no other defenses will be necessary or helpful. Kiera – and indeed, all of Terra – will be doomed."

"You're not telling me anything new," Neirin pointed out, frowning. "Nor are you telling me what you _want_, old man. Stop beating around the bush."

"I'll give the bush a good whack, then." Vehtra turned back to face them, standing as straight as his age-bent spine would allow. "It is in your best interest to fortify this palace – and perhaps the city walls – in any way you can." He offered a wry smile. "The palace's entrance is well-protected, but in the event that the citizens must enter it in large numbers, as would be the case in an attack, I haven't allowed myself to hold any delusions that they wouldn't be followed or joined by a great number of Taharka's men. The runes aren't terribly picky – if the path is open, it's open to _everyone_."

His words settled over the group, and they all exchanged glances. _I don't suppose it'd be fair to ask him to bar _everyone_ from entering, friend or foe be damned,_ Kuja thought helplessly. He hadn't seen much of the city, himself; it was hard to care overmuch for the safety of anonymous cityfolk when Neirin's safety – and his own – lay in the balance. Judging by the looks on the others' faces, they'd had a similar thought, even Maliris, who ought to have felt differently.

The looks weren't lost on Vehtra. "I'm not willing to sacrifice my own people for your sake." He laughed harshly, and Kuja was ashamed for having considered the thought in the first place. "Before all else, until someone takes it upon themselves to remove me, I'm the king of this city. I have few duties, but among those duties is the defense of the city and her people." He pointed at Neirin. "_You_ are not one of my charges. You, my self-centered friend, are a guest I have graciously decided to host."

"And I'm grateful to be hosted," Neirin replied dryly, but traces of a frown prickled at the corners of his lips.

He had no idea how he was going to further protect the palace. He had no idea where to even _begin_.

Vehtra returned to his throne, sitting down heavily and giving them all a dismissive wave. "I can't rush you in your preparations," he said as they began to depart. "Though I would advise you to move as quickly as possible. Thus far, Taharka has only been consistent in his unpredictability, and we have no way of knowing when he intends to make another attempt to bring down the city walls. Work quickly."

xxx

If the first week had been bad, the second was hellish. The news that Elisi was intended for Taharka's greater plans spread through the building crew like a disease, and she was quarantined accordingly: they kept her tucked away in one of the largest of the empty chambers within the building. The door was kept locked at all times. Occasionally she attempted to break out when the cultists came to bring her food. Each time she was beaten back, though never severely enough to do any real damage – Taharka's "present" couldn't be damaged, after all.

Worst of all was the helpless restlessness. Elisi paced around the circular room, eyeing the carvings on the walls: there were at least fifty strange indentions on the walls, and no sign of what they were for. _This place is supposed to be a museum,_ she remembered. _Maybe they're meant for future exhibits?_ But why would exhibits need to go all the way up the walls? And why should there be so _many _of the indentions? And why was there a raised platform in the center of the room; what purpose was that supposed to serve?

"Taharka is a madman," she said to the empty room. "An absolute _madman_."

_And he's going to kill you_, a sinister voice in the back of her mind whispered. _He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you, take your soul, and use it to kill everyone else._

"I won't let that happen," she replied, coiling her hands into fists.

_There's nothing you can do._ She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Of course there was something she could do. There had to be. She just hadn't identified it yet. But when she _did_…

When she _did_…

"When I do, I'll find Kuja and Neirin." It helped to say things out loud, she was finding. It wasn't as if anyone were listening in; there was no need. The lock on the door was absurdly secure; she'd tried everything she could think of to break the door down, to no avail. "And I'll tell them all about the airships." Yes, that was a good idea. How much did they know about Taharka's plans, or how far along those plans had come? Being among the cultists had taught her a thing or two, hadn't it? Of course it had. All that remained was to escape from this room, get away from the build site, and make it back to Kuja and the others…

…Somehow.

xxx

Three days after their conference with Vehtra, Kuja was surprised to find Neirin hard at work in the library. The king held one book in the curve of his arm, and was scribbling notes on parchment as he read. Kuja crept closer, trying not to startle Neirin, and was surprised to see that the book the king held was in the desert language. More interesting still was the subject of the book. Kuja might have anticipated, given their situation, a book on magic or warfare, but…

"Poetry?" He frowned, glancing up at Neirin. "Is that really the best choice?"

"I know the poems," Neirin replied, not looking back at him, choosing instead to continue his note-taking. "Maliris gave me a fair start on some of the titles, and if I can translate _these_, perhaps I can translate more useful books later on." Upon closer inspection, Kuja realized the book itself had a fair amount of notes scribbled along the illuminated pages. They were, indeed, the titles of several poems, and several words had been underlined and "swapped" with other words, presumably arranging word order to better suit the translation.

"You could've asked me for help." Kuja tried not to sound hurt. He tried even harder not to _pout_.

He failed. "You've been trying to help," Neirin reminded him, sparing him a small smile. "I'm just a poor student. Perhaps I'll be a better student if I'm my own teacher." He looked back down at the book in his arm, skimming the pages even as he spoke. "Besides, now you won't have to read everything out loud to me."

"I didn't _mind_ reading it out loud."

Neirin sighed, setting the book aside and eyeing Kuja with mingled fondness and exasperation. "You're more useful to me if we can be reading different material at the same time." He reached into a pile of nearby books and plucked out a title at random. "Start reading this. If you find anything useful, speak up."

Though he had a feeling he was being delegated the unimportant work, Kuja bit his tongue and got to reading. After all, anything was better than being useless, wasn't it?

xxx

It had been nearly a week since he'd last seen Elisi.

At first, he thought nothing of it; perhaps the women had finally accepted her and had been taking up too much of her time, or perhaps she was simply too busy. Things came up on the build site. People were constantly on the move, ferrying things here and there, and there was never a sure way to be certain where any specific person happened to be at a given time. When she wasn't sent to join him at night, Jalen assumed she'd at last been given the right to sleep elsewhere, and had chosen to do so – the fact that she'd apparently done so hurt him worse than he was willing to admit to himself, but he convinced himself not to complain; she was a free woman, after all, and the All-Seeing Eye knew he'd done enough to drive her away by this point.

But an entire _week_? That was beyond punishment. That was _suspicious_.

He attempted to ask around without being blatant about doing so. It wasn't terribly suspicious that a man should ask after his lover, was it? Indeed, to Jalen's mind, it would be more suspicious _not_ to ask. The cultists seemed, however, less-than-willing to tell him whether or not they'd seen her.

Had she escaped?

No. It seemed unlikely, even if she were especially furious with him, that she would simply leave without saying anything. That being said, what if she found the opportunity… and decided it was in her best interest to take it?

The mercenary began slipping into recklessness in his search for Elisi. He asked everyone, sometimes several times a day. His work suffered for it, and people began to take notice. He tried watching for signs that someone might be lying, but it seemed the cultists were either truthfully oblivious to Elisi's whereabouts, or they were all incredibly gifted liars. It terrified him that he couldn't tell which it was, and it scared him to think that they might have captured and hidden her for whatever reason.

It scared him even more that they were apparently trying to conceal that reason from him.

Jalen had believed himself to be quite the actor, tricking the cultists into accepting him as one of their own. What did it mean that they weren't willing to allow him to know this secret, whatever it might be? He'd already learned more than was safe for any outsider to know; he'd learned things that would be of great use to Neirin and his guardians, if ever he found the thrice-damned king again. They hadn't seemed particularly shy about embracing him as one of their brethren and allowing him access to the secrets that brotherhood entailed, so why was it so important that he didn't know where a particular, otherwise unimportant woman happened to be, if indeed they knew?

Little by little, he became more and more convinced that Elisi had simply escaped without him. Jalen struggled to bring himself to be proud of her rather than wounded; life among the cult had been painful and unpleasant for her, and she was far better off if she escaped and somehow managed to reach Kiera. Jalen had taken note of the Kieran scouts that prowled around the mountains overhead. Elisi may have done the same, and if she suspected they might be allies, she could have easily fled with them. She was a smart girl, wasn't she? She'd have gone on alone, without bothering to risk coming back for him; there was no need to "rescue" him when he fit in so well among the cultists on his own. Coming back would be unnecessarily dangerous. She was staying away. That only made sense.

So why did it _bother_ him so badly?

Jalen sighed, kneeling beside the oasis to splash water on his face. He needed to clear his head. If Elisi truly had left him, then the only step that remained was to make his own escape. It would be far easier for him, he suspected, than it had been for Elisi. Perhaps he could even catch up with her. Wouldn't she be surprised?

"You've been asking about the girl."

Jalen turned, startled to find Naki standing nearby. She was a reasonably attractive woman, he'd decided, though a bit cold – a cultist to the bone, and dangerously perceptive. He'd always been leery of her.

"I might have been," he replied casually, rising to his feet. "A man has a right to know where his woman is, and no one seems to be able to point me in the right direction. After a while, things start smelling a little foul."

Naki didn't bat an eyelash. "You aren't really one of us."

"Maybe not." Jalen shrugged, refusing to show her how terrified he was. Naki would seize on his fear and use it to tear a hole in his defenses. "But I'm working for you all the same, aren't I? I have Terra's best interests at heart. Terra's, and Elisi's." He frowned. "You know where she is, don't you?"

Naki nodded.

Jalen's hope that Elisi had escaped shattered. He wasn't quite willing to embrace the feeling of triumph that washed through him at the realization that she _hadn't _fled without him after all.

"Where is she?"

Naki looked back toward the building. "The locked door," she replied mildly. "If you can get through it, you're welcome to her."

Jalen took off at a dead sprint.

xxx

"Unhelpful." Kuja set yet another book aside, and reached for another. Neirin was still struggling through the first book he'd selected, glancing stubbornly at his translation notes, which had proven reasonably helpful if not the _best_ possible guide. Kuja sighed, opening the new book. "We'll never make any progress at this rate."

"I'm not even sure what to look for," Maliris muttered, looking up from her own book. "I know absolutely nothing about magic and even less about what _you_ can do with it, Neirin." They'd recruited Maliris because of course she could read the language, but thus far she'd done nothing but complain. She insisted on pointing out anything that seemed remotely useful – unfortunately, most of her suggestions revolved around personal protection, rather than the protection of a _location_.

Most unhelpfully of all, Neirin couldn't seem to tell them what to look for.

"_Anything_," Neirin said, exasperated. "Anything at all. Anything that might be useful."

Kuja and Maliris had both done an excellent job of pointing out things that _seemed _useful to them, but were utterly useless as far as Neirin was concerned. Either he didn't have the training necessary to accomplish a given task, or the task itself wasn't powerful enough to protect an entire structure.

They kept searching.

The weeks stretched on.

Little by little, the library's bookshelves were emptied, and piles of useless books grew on the floor, until it was all they could do to find a place to sit – the desk had been claimed by the books. Neirin grew relatively proficient with the language, which only hastened the rate at which they discovered given books were unhelpful, rather than assisting them in finding anything of any practical value.

"What about the condensing magic?" Kuja asked one day, flipping through an old book that once again explained the topic in great (and very dull) detail. "It lingers, so it's not something you'd have to maintain."

Neirin shook his head. "I couldn't make something big enough to shield the entire building. It would be impractical."

"Maybe you don't have to shield the entire building." Maliris looked up from her own book, discovery dawning on her face. "What if you only protected _parts _of it?"

Neirin stared at her, then reached for Kuja's book. The boy surrendered it gladly. "Is that even _possible_?" Neirin asked, skimming the pages. "Or even useful?"

Maliris grinned. "It just might be time to pay a visit to the Thief King," she informed them. "We may need a few trinkets."

* * *

**Author's Note: **The Thief King is the go-to guy for shiny things.


	26. Hall of the Thief King

**Author's Note:** One hundred reviews! Thank you all so, so much! For the curious: 2458 hits (second-highest of all of my fics!), 5 favorites, 11 story alerts (also second-highest). And at 26 chapters, it is now the longest fic I have ever written on this site. I feel all warm and fuzzy. C:  
Pip, yes, Kuja is kind of overprotective of Neirin, largely because Neirin is somewhat underprotective of himself. Aaand yes, yes it does get interesting. XitaUnlucky, one missed review doesn't bother me, but miss several in a row and I'll start worrying that something in the fic turned you off and you just didn't want to say anything, and it will bother me _forever_. And like I said, Valia Pira? Eventually, yep. Blacktepes, I'm hoping that even if people guess at and figure out the various twists I have planned, the realization of those twists will still be interesting enough for everyone to enjoy. C: Which isn't to say I'm going to confirm or deny absolutely anything before it's time, because where's the fun in that? And WiREP (first of all: 100th review!), of course something bad is going to happen to Elisi. In this fic, something bad happens to absolutely everyone. The question is _what_. You raise an interesting point about souls, though, so I wanted to clarify a point: souls are sort of "wiped clean" each time they're reincarnated; they don't retain memories from past cycles. This is why Neirin doesn't strictly remember being one of the First Kings, for example. Genomes have artificially-developed bodies, but their souls function in precisely the same way. The only way to force those memories to resurface would be, say, Memoria.  
Which is to say you should all play disk four again and try to pick out which rooms in Memoria turn up in this fic. Not really. Unless you're obsessed. Like me! :D

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Hall of the Thief King**

The sun was brighter than he remembered. Kuja shielded his eyes as, for the first time in several weeks, they emerged from the palace into the city. He wondered if they'd get in trouble for leaving; they hadn't sought or received Vehtra's permission. Maliris didn't seem to think it necessary. For his part, Neirin had never been especially concerned with obeying any imaginary rules or prohibitions placed on him by the desert king; as far as he was concerned, so long as he was not _explicitly _instructed not to do something, it was very much allowed.

"The Thief King demands more respect than Vehtra ever will," Maliris warned the young king, as they moved quickly down the warm streets. "The fact that he supposedly-" She snorted. "-Demands _less_ respect from the people in no way means he doesn't have more power. _And_ he's in a better position to do something about it if you make stupid remarks."

Neirin eyed her, raising an eyebrow. "As if I'd make _stupid remarks_."

"You make them like it's your job," Maliris replied.

Kuja had to agree.

He wasn't sure what Maliris's aim was in dragging them to see the Thief King, though. _A few trinkets,_ she'd said, with no further explanation. Kuja searched his mind for some possible _reason_ behind this odd decision, with mounting frustration. He could think of _nothing_. Was the Thief King an especially skilled mage? If so, why _trinkets_? Why not ask the man to perform the spells himself? Why wouldn't Vehtra have gone to _him_ if he were a mage? Kuja scowled. He didn't care for not knowing the _why_s of things, particularly as they applied to situations _he_ had suggested in the first place. He especially despised the realization that no one was going to explain it to him; likely they supposed that, being a child, he had no need to know such things.

As far as he was concerned, he was one of Neirin's guardians, and should therefore be entrusted with any and all knowledge the other four were entrusted with. Any withholding of such information, after all, could lead to danger.

Furthermore he was curious, dammit.

The sun was setting in the sky, and the streets were largely empty. The few Kierans who were still out and about paused to shout a greeting in Neirin's direction. The king returned the greeting in their own tongue. Most of the Kierans greeted this with a grin – otherwise they simply stared in surprise; they certainly hadn't expected the foreign king to attempt to learn _their _language. Kuja was rather proud of his own hand in the king's proficiency in the language, but doubted he'd ever receive the credit he was owed. Not, he supposed, that it truly mattered. So long as they weren't killed because Neirin had the poor sense to pronounce something incorrectly, he wasn't concerned with it.

Eventually the streets became broader, and the buildings and homes became steadily sparser and smaller, until Kuja realized they were walking among tents of varying degrees of elaborate ridiculousness. The heavy air smelled of spice and sweat, and there was music coming from an unknown source. Though the streets here were no longer clean-swept (or _streets_, for that matter), the dust never had a chance to settle – everywhere they looked were free-roaming animals and children of Kuja's age and younger. The children paused to stare openly at Neirin as he passed, and several took to following him through the village, chanting unintelligibly at his back. Kuja thought he heard the word for _prince_, and perhaps even the word for _god_.

For his part, Kuja was reminded uncomfortably of Belapest. Though it was unlikely that Maliris of all people would lead them into a trap, the boy found himself swallowing nervous bile as they drew closer to the largest of the tents – a truly opulent affair that stretched on for a seemingly impossible distance, crafted out of a shimmering black material laced with silver and gold thread.

"Behold the hall of the Thief King," Maliris said, gesturing toward the enormous tent. Her eyes slid toward Kuja. "Keep an eye on the brat. The slave trade is alive and well here. Ethics aren't." She strode toward the tent, and the two of them scurried to keep up with her broad strides. If there were any manner of guards protecting the front of the tent, Kuja didn't see them; Maliris simply swept aside the heavy tapestry that formed the doorway, and Kuja and Neirin followed suit. The children that had followed them this far simply dispersed, presumably to return to chasing the animals around.

Within was madness.

Torches blazed, revealing what seemed to be the entire population of Kiera. Dancing women with bells on their ankles and wrists twirled around a bright central fire, spinning flaming swords as if they were batons. Other men and women lounged at tables and along what passed for walls, casting appraising but absent glances at the dancers. Servants scurried here and there, ferrying drinks and food and even weapons in a seemingly endless stream of servitude – it seemed as if the moment one servant departed, another suddenly appeared to fill the gap left behind. Musicians sat near the fire, playing a tune for the dancers to spin to, just barely loud enough to be heard above the crowd. As Kuja watched, one of the musicians was accidentally kicked in the face by one of the dancers. The dancer immediately proceeded to stab the musician with her blazing sword, and resume her dance. No one seemed especially concerned by the death of the musician; the corpse was simply shoved aside and quickly replaced by another man who could, apparently, play the same instrument.

Kuja grabbed Neirin's hand and squeezed.

It _was_ just like Belapest.

Seemingly unfazed, Maliris began leading them through the crowd, and they followed, if for no reason other than that to do otherwise would almost certainly lead to death or worse. They wove through the crowd slowly but steadily; no one seemed keen on interrupting their progress. Mercifully, no one had any comments to shout after them, either. Kuja wanted to keep his eyes closed, but he had the terrifying feeling that if he did so he might stumble and lose his grip on Neirin's hand, and be simply swept away by the sheer force of the crowd.

Kuja wasn't sure when the whisper began.

Suddenly, though, he realized the music had stopped, and the crowd had fallen suddenly, terrifyingly silent. _Roshan_, someone whispered, and the word spread ahead and around them like wildfire. Everyone was staring. _Roshan_. The crowd slowly parted ahead of Maliris, and they were flanked on either side by wide, staring eyes. For once, no one was staring at Neirin - they were looking at _Maliris_. For her part, Maliris looked straight ahead, sparing not even a single glance to one side or the other; for all Kuja could tell, she wasn't even aware that there _were_ whispers.

_Roshan_.

The word became a hissing wave that crashed over them, but Maliris pressed on, until they at last reached what passed as a "throne" - an immense pile of gleaming treasures of every sort, into which a small concave dip had been formed; the dip was filled with pillows of questionable quality. Upon this makeshift throne sat a balding, muscular man with gold rings woven into his rather magnificent red beard. Serpent tattoos curled around his biceps and bared chest, but even with out them, the resemblance to Maliris was striking: he had the exact same stubborn set to his jaw; the same fierce eyes; the same expression predisposed to scowling. As they approached the throne, the Thief King rose slowly to his feet, staring at Maliris and taking no note of her trailing guests.

"Roshan." At his word, the rest of the tent fell silent, thousands of eyes directed toward the throne. Kuja felt Neirin's hand tighten on his own; neither of them knew what to expect. Maliris remained silent. The Thief King frowned. "You have no greeting for your father, my wayward heir?"

Maliris scowled. "I am not your _heir_," she said as flatly as was possible while still including just the correct amount of _rage_. "The fact that I fled from the _continent_ to escape _being _your heir didn't prove as much, Father?"

The man didn't bother himself with a response; instead he at last turned his attention to Neirin. "And this is the foreign prince I've heard so much about."

"King," Maliris corrected, seconds before Neirin could do so, himself.

"All kings are as princes before the King of Thieves," the man yawned lazily, settling himself back down on the throne. Neirin's hand twitched, and Kuja gave it a reassuring squeeze. The older man was just trying to spark a reaction, and with any luck, he wouldn't get one. "I am Arros, named after the continent I was born to. It was my father's wish that I would grow to be as mighty as the land itself." He grinned, spreading his arms as if to indicate the entire tent, or perhaps the entire city. "And so I have."

Neirin had the grace to bow - if only a little. "And I am Neirin, King of Terra."

"You don't get to call yourself the King of Terra when you rule only one continent," Arros said smoothly, grinning wider and revealing several gold teeth. "And rule it poorly, at that. A mere cultist cast you from your throne, _King of Terra_. In my mind, that makes _him_ the king, not you. What makes you think you're fit to claim the crown?"

Neirin didn't answer. Kuja peered up at him, willing him to come up with _something_; there had to be _some_ reason why-

"I see fit to serve him," Maliris cut in suddenly, her hand resting on the blade at her hip. "And not you, _Father_." She spat the word. "In my eyes, even if he's not the most spectacular of rulers, at least he's more worthy of my service than _you_."

If nothing else, it served to wound Arros, who stared at his daughter for one long moment before looking away. Whatever had passed between them, the wounds had not yet healed. Kuja did his best to pretend he wasn't curious; he became quite suddenly fascinated by his own shoes, and refused to look up from them. After all, he had no idea what he was doing there in the first place. Perhaps it was in his best interest to pretend he was absolutely anywhere else.

Arros's gaze settled again on Neirin, and he cleared his throat. "You had some purpose in coming here tonight," he prompted, waving at the younger king. "Get to that purpose, and I'll decide how worthy your cause is. I can't help observing that you accepted Vehtra's help without seeking out my own."

"He found us first," Neirin blurted. Maliris sighed, but couldn't say anything; not after speaking up for him. It didn't seem to matter. "In any case, it is Vehtra who brings us here. He's asked me to safeguard the palace in return for my own safety." He folded his arms, resting his chin on one hand. "I've done a fair amount of research into condensing magic-"

Suddenly, Arros smiled. "Ah, now _that's _old stuff." He laughed, leaning forward. "I heard you were a magic-wielder. It's true, then." He didn't wait for confirmation. "Perhaps there _is_ some merit to your claim on the throne. I'm not a magician, myself, but I can tell you this so-called 'condensing' magic works best when there is something to condense _around_." At their puzzled looks, he laughed again, then reached into the pile of treasures behind him and withdrew a dark armlet. "Start with this," he said, tossing the armlet to Neirin, who caught it with his free hand.

Neirin stared blankly at the armlet for a moment, then back up to Arros.

"Well?" The older king leaned back, grinning. "Give us a show of your power, King of Terra."

xxx

_You'll never get out_. Elisi dug her nails into the stone ledge above her, pulling herself up into the groove on the wall. _You'll never get out. There's no way out._ She shoved the voice aside, twisting at a bizarre angle to pull herself up to the nearest ledge. It was farther away than she'd expected, but she seized it nonetheless. It was something. It was _anything_. The grooves in the walls were deeper than she'd expected, as well; they were more than big enough for her small body to fit into. She didn't know why she was trying to climb the wall; there was no opening overhead, but there had to be some way out. There _had_ to be. She couldn't be trapped here.

This wasn't how her life was supposed to end.

"Just keep going," she urged herself desperately, pulling herself toward the next ledge. "Just keep going. Just keep going."

The ledges grew steeper, and Elisi realized that sooner or later, she had to get back down. There was no escape waiting for her at the top of the room, and the higher up she got, the more dangerous it became.

_Just jump off_. She looked out over the ledge of the groove she sat in, and the distance between herself and the floor was dizzying. _Just jump off. The fall would break your neck. Taharka couldn't use you then, could he?_

The voice, for once, was making sense. Elisi leaned out further, willing herself to simply pitch forward, head-first. It would be over before she knew it; there wouldn't be any pain. _This isn't how my life is supposed to end,_ she thought miserably, hesitating. _I'm supposed to die of old age. I'm supposed to see Neirin back on the throne. I'm supposed to become a real guardian, just like Kraken._ Elisi rested her forehead against the cold stone and wept. If she was going to die, at the very least she deserved the right to mourn for herself.

xxx

Well, this was rather embarrassing. Neirin turned the armlet around in his hands a few times, pretending to be getting a decent feel for the composition and shape of the thing, but in fact, he had no idea what the hell to do with it. He tried focusing pure energy on it, but with no direction or purpose, the magic simply dissipated the moment he stopped concentrating on it. Maliris watched him, looking absolutely ashamed to have brought him in the first place. Worse, though, was the fact that Kuja was staring at him expectantly, fully expecting him to master the technique in mere moments.

Neirin wished he'd bothered reading more thoroughly.

_It's a simple enough principle,_ he thought furiously, holding the dark armlet tightly. _Just like ice. Everything is concentrated. Everything becomes solid. So why can't I do this?_

In a moment of desperation, he glanced at Kuja. A flicker of expectant hope died in the boy's green eyes, and Neirin looked away quickly, anger boiling at his core. This wasn't _fair_. He didn't know what he was doing. This wasn't common magic; this wasn't just dredging up energy and directing it properly with the desired element or purpose; this was using magic to _make _something, and as far as Neirin was concerned, that might as well have been impossible.

Still, with the eyes of half of Kiera on him, he could hardly _fail_.

He stared harder at the armlet, his grip tightening. _You won't win,_ he thought, as if the armlet itself were maliciously avoiding properly accepting the spell. _I'll show you and this entire city why I'm Terra's king._

xxx

In all of his life, Jalen didn't think he'd ever moved so quickly. He flew across the sand as if his life depended on it, into the growing building. Elisi had been locked away for weeks now, he realized; and who knew if they'd even bothered with keeping her alive? What purpose did sealing her away serve, anyway? Was it all a ploy to get him to admit he wasn't loyal to Taharka? Did they _know_ he was the mercenary who had betrayed their master? …No; how could _Taharka_ even know Jalen had betrayed him? That couldn't possibly be it. But why? After all, he'd done more than his fair share of the building; he'd worked harder than most of the _real_ cultists. They couldn't fault him for that. He supposed he'd make a fair spy; he'd been to rituals and meetings, and to be fair he _had_ spied on them, but why take Elisi? Why not simply kill him? It wouldn't be hard. He wasn't nearly as suspicious of others as he supposed he ought to be.

And none of it mattered.

What mattered was Elisi, and finding out whether she was alive. If she was, Jalen was going to take her through the mountains to Kiera, as fast as she could possibly travel.

If she wasn't…

If she _wasn't…_

…But she had to be. Jalen refused to think she might be otherwise. He slammed into the locked door as if doing so would somehow force it open. The stone door didn't even budge.

"Elisi!" He called, pounding on the door. "Elisi, do you hear me? Answer me!"

The answer was perfect, horrible silence.

xxx

The ship was immense. There was no escaping that: it was enormous, easily half again the size of most normal ships. At first glance, it looked rather like a normal battleship; it was well-armored and well-armed. But in the place of sails this ship had a massive pair of propellers, designed to pull the ship up on the wind currents: it was an airship. An enormous, deadly-looking battering spike protruded from the front of the hull, nearly the same length as the ship itself, polished to a gleaming finish. At its heart, though, deep within the ship's hull, was a gaping hole.

Taharka had not yet found the soul to fill that hole.

"The Invincible needs to serve as a channel for souls," he explained to the idiots who couldn't understand his vision. "A place to trap unwanted souls, preventing them from re-entering the cycle." But first he needed the power to give the ship a life of its own: a soul. At first he had considered one of the First Souls, but the difficulty involved in finding only _one_ of those had proven… _irritating_. A pity he couldn't locate Sonia's soul again, though she wouldn't have the power necessary. In any case a First Soul wasn't necessarily _needed_, simply a powerful one. A half-soul would be ideal.

But even _they_ had become a rarity in recent times. Taharka cursed his own short-sightedness; had he only tried to find the necessary souls prior to beginning the process of ending the current cycle…

But it was too late for "if only." What he had now was a useless airship and a channeling crystal with nothing to channel, and he was no closer now to the creation of Garland than he had been two years ago.

Worse, the planet he had selected for the next fission was beginning to display signs of life. He wasn't aware yet if it would be enough to interfere with the merge; there were too many variables to consider, and no way of knowing how much longer it would be before Garland was created and Terra could successfully and safely be allowed to die.

He sighed, resting a hand against the deck of the lifeless ship. "Nothing is going according to plan," he lamented, as if the behemoth understood him. "But it will," he added. "It _will_."

Slowly but surely the ship, laboriously towed by a normal ship, moved toward the Erras continent, where its empty heart awaited it.

xxx

_Do you hear me? Answer me!_

The words held some meaning for her, but she couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Elisi inched slowly down the wall, feeling gingerly with her feet and trying carefully - oh, so carefully - to slide her way down to the floor without falling. In the end, she couldn't bring herself to fall to her death; she didn't have the strength or willpower for it, and she was afraid of death. Instead, she began the long climb back down, ignoring the mocking voice in her head; it didn't know anything. It didn't seem to know that she could fight her way out if only she had her knife, if only she knew how to use magic, if only she had Kraken or Kuja or Jalen-

Jalen.

The person calling from outside of the room was _Jalen_.

In her surprise, she slipped. Her hand slid away from the smooth stone surface like it had a mind of its own, and her feet weren't close enough to the ledge below to catch her. Elisi watched the wall fall away in slow motion, realizing suddenly that it was a pale blue, rather than the grey she'd thought it to be, and it was strangely smooth and oddly beautiful. The grooves in the wall were perfect ovals, the room itself was a perfect dome. She watched the wind ruffle her hair as she fell, and wondered when it had grown long enough to ruffle in the first place. She wondered if she was going to die. How ironic that she should die of the very thing she'd decided she didn't want to die from!

And then, before she could quite accept that she was going to die, she collided with the ground. It didn't kill her - she'd fallen from perhaps her own height, no more - but it left her winded and choking on useless air.

"Elisi! Elisi, is that you? Dammit, Elisi, _say something-"_

"Will you shut up?" Elisi choked on the words, but they got the point across. She sat up slowly, rubbing her sore back. "I'm not dead, but I will be if Taharka gets here before you get me out."

Damn it all, she could almost hear the gears turning in his head through the stone door. "What are you talking about?"

She sighed, staggering painfully to her feet. "How about," she growled, "you get me out of here, and _then_ we talk about Taharka's plans for me."

xxx

"Perhaps you should give up," Arros suggested, having laughed his fill. The crowd, taking their cues from their king, had laughed quite a fair amount, as well, and it was all Neirin could do to keep himself from simply killing them all. "I think you'd have better luck if you simply stood in the entryway and showered everyone who dared to enter with as many spells as you could summon up."

Neirin ignored him.

Mostly.

_Focus everything on one spot,_ he thought, for the thousandth time. And for the thousandth time, he felt it _almost_ work, only to shatter and slip away at the last minute. Disgusted, he tossed the armlet to Kuja. "You read the book," he said, sighing. "_You_ figure it out."

To his credit, the boy did try his hardest. Neirin watched in bitter amusement as Kuja turned the armlet over and over in his hands in much the same way _he _had, tapping and poking at the thing as if doing so might somehow unlock the thing's secrets.

_Unlock_.

Neirin's jaw dropped. "That's _it,_" he exclaimed, plucking the armlet back out of Kuja's fingers. "The armlet doesn't hold the _spell_, the _spell_ holds the armlet!" Grinning like a madman, he tried to explain the procedure to Kuja - it all seemed so _simple_ now - but the boy simply stared at him with what looked like mingled amusement and hope. Neirin then tried to explain it to Arros, who didn't seem to have the slightest idea what the hell he was talking about, so he decided that at the very least he ought to try it.

_Enchanting does no good,_ he thought; the armlet simply couldn't hold the spell. But a few well-placed barrier spells and a gravity spell or two, and…

A pinkish-violet shell appeared around the armlet, steadily shrinking and compacting as Neirin carefully applied gravity spells. If he was correct, the armlet itself would remain unharmed when the spell holding the barriers in place was broken, but until then, it was contained within a sphere approximately the size of Kuja's fist, which was precisely where Neirin placed the finished product: a perfect sphere, glowing radiantly in the darkness that had settled over the tent. A few _oohs _and _aahs_ traveled through the crowd. Neirin didn't especially care about them; those idiots had laughed at him only moments before. They were easily amused. Kuja, on the other hand, grinned exuberantly at the stone in his hand, and at the tiny armlet contained within.

"I'd say," Neirin began, turning toward Arros. "That I passed your test-"

Before he could finish, though, a man tore to the front of the gathered audience, panting and clearly in poor shape from the road. "Arros," the man said, kneeling, only to collapse onto his hands and knees. "Arros, I have news from the cultists' site."

"What news?" Arros rose, and Neirin felt his spine go rigid.

The man looked up. "A prisoner," he panted. "They took a young woman prisoner. We suspect they're holding her for Taharka."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Dun dun duuuuuun.


	27. And Then Nothing

**Author's Note:** I'm so sorry for the long delay! But this chapter skates in at seven pages (normal length is three and a half), so enjoy your double-length chapter; I hope it's worth the wait.

WiREP, I'm actually glad it didn't seem obvious that Maliris was Arros's daughter; I was worried I was being a little heavy-handed with it, to be honest! And as for Jalen reaching Elisi in time, _we shall see_. XitaUnlucky, I hope to at least brush on the guardians' origins at some point (I covered Tiamat's very, very briefly in a very early chapter), but yeah, Maliris's background is one of the ones I knew from the beginning was actually going to be a plot point, and I'm glad it finally came out. c: Pip, Neirin's stubborn enough to figure anything out, given the time and a reason to figure it out at all ("Do it or everyone will laugh at you" seems like a pretty good motivation). And again, I'm glad it wasn't too obvious that Maliris was Arros's daughter. WelsJ, here's your official welcome to the fic! I do try to get into the moment and scene; to me, that and characterization are what's really important about this story (well, that, and the references to the game, of course). As for the bit with Elisi and Jalen, he knows he likes her at the very least, but she's not really completely sure how she feels about him in return, yet. Clement Rage, I'm ridiculously excited by how the story is progressing right now, because this really is the part of the game where canon really starts surfacing. As for the cultists holding prisoners bit, it's mostly because, well, Taharka doesn't _do_ prisoners, as Arros mentions early in this chapter. JessRangel, omgyou'reback, hi! Yeah, they're pretty much one step behind at all times, though Neirin's about to take a _huge_ leap (consider the previous chapter his "I took a level in Badass" chapter). And yeah, things pretty much get really, really bad for Elisi in this chapter, to the surprise of no one.

ON WITH THE CHAPTER (holy shit, you guys, lots of reviews this week; thank you!).

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: And Then Nothing**

Arros stared at the young messenger, frowning. "Impossible." He shook his head. "Everyone knows Taharka doesn't take prisoners." His gaze slid toward Neirin, and the faintest hint of a smirk twitched at the corners of his lips. "With one special exception, anyway."

Panting, the messenger remained on his knees, though whether it was a gesture of respect or exhaustion, Kuja couldn't guess. He inched closer to Neirin, who didn't seem to notice him. Maliris, too, seemed to have forgotten he existed; her eyes were on the messenger. The man cleared his throat, only to choke for a while longer. For reasons he didn't understand, Kuja's heart was lodged n his throat, and he wanted to run away, out into the desert night – he didn't want to hear what the messenger had to say, regardless of its importance.

"She's from the mother continent; central region, we would guess. She came on the same ship as the crystals we last reported," the messenger managed, weakly looking up at Arros. "Along with another man. They seemed unremarkable at the time, just another pair of builders for the -"

"Never mind." Arros waved him on. "Tell me what happened."

The messenger managed to climb to his feet. "The cultists ignored her for some time, but they've sealed her within the structure. We… we know not why." He shook his head apologetically. "We can only speculate that they're holding her for Taharka. We've heard rumors that suggest he'll be arriving on the continent any day now."

Whispers traveled through the crowd, but Arros seemed unconcerned. "A sacrifice of some kind," he guessed, drumming his fingers on his treasure-throne. "It's none of our concern. We have other-"

"I'm going." Maliris stepped forward, hand on her sword's hilt. "I can go alone if need be, but I'm saving her."

The whispers stopped immediately. Arros's eyes narrowed, and he sat up straighter. Father and daughter stared each other down, and Kuja glanced between the two. What was going on here? It wasn't like Maliris to risk her neck for just anyone, and Arros had a point; they had to prepare the city for an attack from Taharka – there was no time to save a stranger. A stranger who could, for all they knew, be _bait_ intended to lure out a force of some kind from Kiera. It was odd bait, to be sure; the Kierans didn't seem like the time to eagerly rush to the aid of someone from the mother continent. They'd been hesitant enough to help _them_, and Neirin was a king. But perhaps the cultists were desperate, and the newest face among their crew might just be expendable enough to risk. Still, why would Maliris rush blindly into what could be a trap?

Unless…

_A woman from the mother continent. Arrived on a ship with another man._

"It's Elisi," he heard himself say, but his voice didn't sound like his own; it sounded far away and unfamiliar, like an echo. The boy looked at Maliris, who continued to stare down her father. "Maliris, it's Elisi, isn't it?"

Arros glanced at him, then back to Maliris. "Elisi?"

"She was our traveling companion." Maliris relaxed ever-so-slightly, but didn't look away. "We thought her lost at sea. It seems she was rescued and delivered into the arms of our enemy. And I'm going to save her, or die in the attempt."

Neirin stepped forward. "I'll go with you-"

"You will _not_." Maliris's response was sharp and final, and she whipped around to glare at him. To his credit, Neirin didn't flinch. Kuja did. "I'm going directly into the hornets' nest, and by the time I get there, Taharka's like as not to be there with that rock of his. You'll be useless. You'll probably be _dead_ if you go with me. Besides," she added, quickly cutting off the protest that was already half-formed on Neirin's tongue. "You have more important things to do _here_. Taharka's probably planning to attack Kiera as soon as possible. You need to get started on protecting the palace."

"It's no less dangerous for you," Arros pointed out, steepling his fingers. "A lone warrior among the cultists? They might not be skilled fighters, but they outnumber you." He lifted an eyebrow. "Didn't I teach you the value of strength in numbers, Roshan?"

"Among other useless tricks, yes." Maliris scowled. "Regardless, I have to try-"

"But not alone." Behind them, the crowd parted, and Lich emerged, winded. He was followed by another messenger, younger and decidedly less exhausted than the man who had delivered the message to Arros. Lich offered Arros only the slightest of acknowledging nods before turning his attention to Maliris and Neirin. "I'll accompany you. If we reach the site before Taharka arrives, my spells can cut as clean a path as any blade."

"And if he's there," Maliris muttered, "you're going to be useless. _And _dead. Don't be stupid, old man."

Lich bristled. "_Old man_? I'd like to see you stop me!"

"I'd sooner have Tiamat or Kraken." She glanced at Neirin. The king was still glowering; Kuja tried not to pretend he didn't notice. "You'd be more helpful aiding Neirin. The other two couldn't work magic if their lives depended on it."

"I'm not going to ask Kraken to go on this mission." Lich's voice was quiet, but firm. Kuja didn't need to wonder what he meant; if it _was_ Elisi, and they failed to save her, Kraken would never survive it. "She wasn't present to hear the message. Tiamat will tell her… whatever he wishes to tell her, but he will stay to comfort her." He turned away, settling his gaze on Neirin, who had the grace to look at least a _little_ somber. "_You_ will tell her nothing. Focus on the task at hand."

Kuja glanced up at Neirin, then back to the guardians. A small part of him wanted nothing so much as to go along with them, though he knew, logically, they would never allow him to go. But if it _was_ Elisi… could he live with himself, knowing he could have helped her and had done nothing? His hands curled into fists. _You could follow them,_ he told himself. _You could follow them, and there isn't a damned thing they could do about it._ That wasn't true. They could kill him. It was a wonder they hadn't killed him as a liability already; likely the only thing keeping him alive was his luck and a few lucky guesses. And probably a fair amount of astoundingly sharp intuition, at that. Still, regardless of where he went, he was going to be useless; he wasn't proficient enough with the small amount of magic he _could _use to be of any help to Neirin, and he didn't have a weapon to use against the cultists.

Frustrated, he simply glared at the inoffensive floor. _If only I were older!_

"If you can't save her," Neirin said quietly, and Kuja glanced back up, surprised. "If you can't save her, _return immediately_. Don't waste time trying to kill the cultists if she's already gone, or if Taharka has already arrived."

Maliris's face turned red with rage, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Lich cut her off. "Why?" He frowned, crossing his arms. "If we can kill Taharka, we can end this _now_."

"But you can't." Neirin sighed, shaking his head. "Not when he's surrounded by his followers. Who knows how many of them will be coming _with_ him? He's planning for a war. He'll bring warriors with him. Weapons. Siege engines. Maybe even monsters. Against a hundred cultists, the two of you might stand a fair chance in a retreat, but against an_ army_?" He shook his head again, shifting his weight to one foot. "No. No chance at all."

The two guardians were silent, contemplating the information – likely they'd known it all along, but hadn't wished to accept it. Neither of them wanted to believe for a moment that they wouldn't be able to save Elisi; she was _one_ of them.

Maliris spoke first. "Fine." She began stalking away from the throne, followed a few steps behind by Lich.

"Wait," Neirin called after them, and they turned. His lips twitched. "If you can manage it," he began, "see if you can't drag that good-for-nothing Jalen back with you, won't you?"

Xxx

"What's taking so long?" Elisi sat in front of the door, disheartened by the ongoing sound of scraping on the outside. Jalen had been at it for at least a day now, and there had been no progress. Worse, so long as he was there, it seemed, the cultists had no interest in opening the door to feed her. "You said you were an expert at picking locks."

On the other side of the door, Jalen sighed, slamming a fist against the solid door. "I am." He tossed aside his broken set of lockpicks, and set about hammering at the lock with several of the nearby construction tools. "This isn't a normal lock. It's… magic, or something." He began attempting to chisel his way through the lock, which refused even to dent. Several cultists sat on an overhead ledge nearby, snickering at his attempts.

When this was over, he vowed, he was going to kill those two.

"Can't you just… smash it open, or something?" Elisi tried, with limited success, to fight the panic that rose in her voice. "Jalen, you can get it open, can't you?"

"Of course I can." Jalen tried, with equally limited success, to ignore the panic in Elisi's voice. "It's just taking time, that's all. Don't worry, Elisi, I'll get you out of there."

The only question was whether or not he'd be able to get her out before Taharka arrived and killed them both.

xxx

The mountain path was harder to navigate than she'd anticipated. Maliris skidded down a particularly steep slope, narrowly missing their guide, who yelped and leapt out of the way as swiftly as a bird. Maliris slammed against a boulder at the bottom. "God _damn_ this godforsaken _mountain_," she snapped, wincing as she rose gingerly to her feet. Her ears rang and her entire body stung with various scrapes and bruises, but nothing appeared to be broken. The guide, a young scout whose name she hadn't bothered to catch, rushed to her side, poking and prodding at her as if he feared she might have shattered in the fall.

She shoved him away. "Keep leading the way." She spat on the ground, and a tooth and a bit of blood went along with it. _Dammit._ "We're in a hurry, boy. No time to waste."

"And no time for injury," the guide retorted, but resumed walking all the same. Maliris stalked after him, followed by Lich, who had yet to fall and knock a tooth out. Maliris tried not to resent him for it. She'd grown up in Kiera, to be sure, but she'd never been one of the mountain scouts – the mountains were treacherous, and only a brave few dared to cross them. The paths were ever-changing; avalanches were common in the sandy-earthed peaks, and a single fall could shift an entire path. It was for this reason, Maliris assumed, that the cultists had not yet attempted an attack from the mountains. They would never survive the crossing, let alone do so with enough surviving warriors to pose any sort of challenge.

"What if it isn't Elisi?" Lich's words caught her off guard, and Maliris had to grab the nearby cliff face to keep herself from falling yet again. Lich reached out an arm to steady her, and for once, she didn't brush it away. She steadied herself, then pressed forward, moving along the narrow sandy path. After a moment, Lich asked again, "What if it isn't her?"

"It has to be," she snapped impatiently, trying to resist the urge to grab the back of the guide's tunic to help ensure she stayed on the right path and didn't take a misstep. "Who else could it be?"

"Some other captive," he suggested, not removing his hand from her arm. "A snake in the nest; someone they found to be a traitor. Or," he added, "another First Soul."

Maliris froze.

"You think…"

"She serves some use to Taharka." He gently pushed her forward, and she started walking again, though slowly. "Or they'd have killed her by now. Maliris, what if they found someone to take Neirin's place as Garland? Think about it." She tried not to. She tried so hard not to. "They're holding her captive – not killing her. She's from the central region of the mother continent; that suggests she could be of the right lineage. Maliris, if we let him use her instead -"

"_Stop it_!" Maliris brushed his arm away, whipping around almost too quickly, almost quickly enough to lose her balance. She didn't care. "What right do we have to say her life is worthless? This isn't _about_ Neirin anymore, you thrice-damned old bastard, it's about _Terra_! We'd be doing Terra a favor if we _killed_ Neirin and made it impossible for Taharka to create Garland at all!" _Don't you know how often I consider doing it myself?_ "If Garland is created, Terra is doomed. It doesn't matter if the soul used is Neirin's or some poor peasant girl the cultists happened to stumble upon. _It doesn't matter_, Lich!" She felt tears burning her eyes, and hated herself for it. "We're the guardians of _Terra_, not just her king," she said, trying to regain her composure. "We have to stop Taharka, no matter who this girl is, whether she's Elisi or not."

Lich stared at her a moment, his old eyes unreadable in their sunken sockets. And then, slowly, he nodded. "Very well," he said, so quietly she wasn't certain he'd spoken at all. "We do what we can."

xxx

It was a long, slow process. Neirin created bloodstone after bloodstone, sealing whatever he could within the magic shells – armor, bangles, helmets, hats. Vehtra watched, amusement evident on his aged face, but he said nothing, for which Kuja was grateful. Kuja himself was assigned the task of dragging the various bits of armory to Neirin. Arros had been generous in his donations; there was a pile of potential bloodstone bases nearly as tall as Kuja sitting in the corner of the library. Kuja wiped his brow, wondering how long it would take to get through _all_ of them. Though Neirin worked with surprising efficiency for someone who had only recently learned a skill, he'd scarcely made a dent in the pile, and the collection of bloodstones looked pitifully small.

"If you don't mind my asking," Vehtra said, in a tone that suggested he didn't especially give a damn whether Neirin minded his asking. "What purpose do they serve?"

Neirin glanced up, then resumed forging the bloodstones, one by one. "Eventually, they'll serve to strengthen a guardian." He held up the most recent bloodstone, a perfect pink shell. "This one nullifies any magic with an elemental base. Fire, water, ice-"

"Very good, yes." Vehtra waved impatiently. "And what _guardian _do you speak of, eh?"

Smiling, Neirin gestured to Kuja, who scrambled for the book he knew was expected. Once it was delivered to him, Neirin opened the book to a dog-eared page, and pointed to an illustration of what appeared to be an obelisk. "_Valia Pira,_" he read. "Its attributes can be changed according to its environment. Since there is no environment to speak of in the palace…" He snapped the book shut, and resumed forging the bloodstones. "The bloodstones can be used to create an artificial 'environment' of sorts. I can make it nigh invincible."

"It can't possibly be enough." Vehtra collected the book, examining the illustration. "Only one of them? Taharka and his army can just walk _around_ it; they won't even have to fight it."

Neirin smiled. "Oh, it won't be only one," he said merrily. "I'm making hundreds." He gestured gracefully toward the pile of armor. "Many bloodstones, many guardians. And," he added, "I'm planning a present for Taharka within the city itself."

Vehtra looked up from the book. "An ambush?"

With a smirk, Neirin set the bloodstone aside and rose, taking the book from Vehtra's shaking hands. He turned to yet another page, this one bearing an illustration of a shadow – a shadow with glowing eyes. The desert king read the page, his eyes widening more and more the further he read. "This is impossible." He shook his head. "This is all theoretical; it hasn't actually been _done_; it can't be. This isn't just a matter of condensing a few spells and making a few stones, this is… you would be making… making-"

"An army." Neirin nodded. "Yes."

xxx

_How can it be dawn already?_ Jalen watched the golden light fill the empty windows of the building, and he fought his rising despair. He'd already broken three chisels, and hadn't yet left a scratch on the lock. Whatever was meant to be sealed within this room, it was meant to be sealed _tightly_.

The cultists had taken away the rest of the chisels, claiming the sculptors needed them now. Occasionally, Jalen saw the sculptors – men who had been mostly useless and lazy only days ago – carry in enormous stones, and far off, he heard them carving. The others spoke of "the masks," whatever that meant; and they gestured toward the room in which Elisi was sealed. Whatever plans they had for the room, Elisi's presence was a problem. _Just let her out, then,_ he wanted to say, but knew he couldn't. It was a wonder they hadn't already attempted to kill him. He knew he'd kill them if he could; if he knew which one carried the key, he'd kill _that_ one without a breath of hesitation.

But no one seemed to carry a key.

Worse, the more he looked at it, the more the lock appeared to have a particularly odd keyhole; it almost looked as if nothing in particular was meant to fit within it.

"Jalen?" Elisi scooted closer to the door. "Are you still there?"

"Yes." Jalen rested his forehead against the door, wishing it would just _open_. "Elisi. I need to search for more tools. I'll be back."

A moment of hesitation. "Hurry."

He ran.

xxx

He hated the dawn.

Each day the sun rose was another day Taharka had not reached his goal, and he grew increasingly frustrated as the trip wore on. He'd never cared for travel by sea – when the Invincible and the rest of his airship armada was complete, there would no longer be any need for it. Taharka stood on the deck of his proud ship, smiling at the horizon.

Sitting large and dark on the horizon was, at long last, the Erras continent.

xxx

"We're almost there." The guide ducked down behind some rocks, pointing toward the construction on the desert floor. "There, that's it." Maliris crouched down beside him, eyeing the building. It didn't look like much – it was a squat, dome-shaped structure, and all around it were cultists, scurrying and swarming around like insects. Maliris's fingers twitched, and she reached for her sword.

Lich joined them, eyeing the building below. "It's not a defensible position," he murmured. "Out in the open like that. But that at the top…" He pointed. Two odd-shaped pillars rose from the main dome at an odd angle. "Is that some sort of… weapon?"

"Taharka has access to ancient technology." Maliris shrugged, but her stomach twisted. _Some kind of weapon that can hit Kiera from this distance? Is that even possible?_ "It's not our focus." She glanced at the guide. "Your men said she was within the dome? Any idea what it's like in there?"

He shook his head. "We haven't been able to get close enough to look."

"Well, aren't you just perfectly useless." She sighed, looking back down at the construction site. Going in blind wasn't something she was especially fond of, but then again, they'd sent Elisi blind into Mount Gulug more times than she could count. If this was all she could do to repay Elisi – or at least her memory – then this was what she had to do.

"Do we wait until nightfall?" Lich asked. "Or-"

"It's dawn," Maliris replied sharply. "It'll do. We move now."

xxx

The caverns of the building were treacherous, and Jalen moved as carefully and quickly as he could. There were record-spheres everywhere, looking oddly out of place in the otherwise ancient-looking structure. He inched by them, careful not to knock any over and risk breaking them. He wasn't sure what information they carried, and while he doubted it'd be of much use, he didn't want to be the one responsible for losing information that could, in the long run, be useful to Neirin and the others.

Still, it would've been satisfying to smash one or two of them.

"Tools," he muttered, scanning the ground. "Dammit, I need _tools_."

Usefulness be damned, in his frustration, he slammed a fist against the nearest sphere. It didn't shatter, though a bone or two in his hand might have. He cradled it in his other hand, swearing under his breath – was the entire goddamn world out to spite him today?

_This is the beginning of the city of Traje, capital of the mother continent._ The voice whispered through Jalen's head, and he blinked. What in the world…? _At first, as was the case in all locations, the city flourished, but soon, it began to decline. _Jalen looked around, his gaze finally settling on the record-sphere. It was glowing, and from deep within the sphere, a shadowy projection flickered in the air just in front of him. He blinked, taking a step closer. _At its peak during the last cycle, there were cities all over Terra. Then, the decline began._ The sphere went dark. Jalen tapped it curiously, but it remained silent.

"What sort of place _is_ this?" He asked the silent air, continuing on the path – he had to find tools, and soon. With him out of the way, they might choose to just kill Elisi and carry on with their work.

xxx

The construction site was quiet, which was never a good sign. Naki rose early; she couldn't sleep in perfect silence. _Master Taharka should arrive today_. She smiled at the thought, turning her fact toward the slowly-brightening violet sky. Perhaps that was why things seemed so quiet: the continent awaited Taharka's arrival, and all of the things that would follow. When the sun set on this day, Terra would be one step closer toward the completion of its master plan, and they would all be one step closer to a glorious future. If only she'd managed to secure a First Soul for Master Taharka – she had no doubt he would be grateful for what she _had_ found, but it was not what he needed most, and in that, she had failed.

_Repentance is for the next life_. Naki breathed in the morning air, walking slowly toward the dome. It was progressing nicely. Soon the masks would be installed in the room with the lock, and when that was done, so too would be the construction… well. It would be until Master Taharka's death. Already a special tomb had been built at the bottom of the shaft, meant to memorialize forever the man who had revived and restored Terra for the last time: the man who had given Terra immortality. It was Taharka's one vanity; he wished to be remembered and respected. As if, Naki thought, there was any chance of that _not_ happening.

She stepped through the open doorway (the doors would be the last installment; they were massive), frowning in dismay at the disorder within. Someone had been digging through the piles of tools and equipment; someone had made a mess of the entire entry hall.

And she thought she knew just who it was.

Naki sighed, walking into the next room, toward the locked door. Sure enough, Jalen was nowhere to be found; he was likely off searching for some new method to break into the room. She rolled her eyes. _A pity he's not terribly clever_. The door was bound to the record-spheres; given the plans for this room, it wouldn't do to reveal the entire story before a viewer knew of the details of their civilization – the fall of the cities, the rise of the airships, the soon-to-come merge with the new planet…

Still, despite the bindings, a scarce few of the builders knew how to access the room without necessitating a trip throughout the building. Naki touched the lock, activated a bit of runic magic, and waited patiently as the heavy lock slid away.

"Jalen?" The woman inside rose, then took a step back when she recognized her visitor.

Naki looked around. The woman had been busy – here and there were obvious traces where she'd been climbing the walls, and there were more than a few nasty-looking chips in the walls where she'd started picking away at the stone, presumably trying to tunnel out. Those would take ages to repair.

"You're in the way." Naki wasn't the sugarcoating type. "We need to begin installing the masks in this room, and we can't do that while you're here."

The woman took a step forward. "Then let me go," she said. No begging. Impressive.

"You're needed for Taharka's plans." Naki shook her head slowly. "Those plans are infinitely more important than anything we're doing here. I'm only here to tell you that Master Taharka should be arriving today to deal with you." She studied the younger woman's face. "You should be happy. You'll serve a grand purpose. Your soul will power Terra's greatest airship."

The other woman's lips parted, as if she meant to speak, but her eyes drifted over Naki's shoulder toward the open door. At first, Naki thought she was going to attempt to make a break for it, and she waited for any sign of movement…

…and then something slammed into her skull, and her world went dark as the ground below the raised platform rushed up to meet her.

xxx

For a moment, Elisi didn't believe her own luck. She stared at Naki's body, crumpled on the ground just a short distance below, unable to comprehend what it was she was looking at… and then she looked at Jalen, who stood with the wooden mallet in his hand, staring at her as if he, too, couldn't understand what he was seeing. Elisi shuddered, then ran into Jalen's arms, twisting her fingers in his shirt and hiding her stinging eyes against his neck. He held her so tightly it was almost painful, and she found she didn't mind the pain; it was a nice reminder that she wasn't dreaming.

"We have to get out of here," she muttered, her voice muffled against Jalen's collarbone. "She said Taharka would make landfall today."

He nodded, releasing her. She withdrew reluctantly. "Let's go," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the open door and toward the bright sunlight just a few rooms beyond. Elisi surged toward it like a flower toward light, rushing ahead of Jalen – if she could just get out of the building, they couldn't hold her; if she could just get out, they couldn't lock her up again. They wouldn't get her so easily the next time. She burst through the doorway and into the early morning light, happy tears streaming down her face, Jalen only steps behind.

She turned to thank him again, but he caught her in his arms and, on the doorstep of her prison, Jalen kissed her.

It was the first time she'd ever been kissed, and it was nothing at all like she'd expected it to be. It was so, so much better. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and rather than trying to see past them, Elisi closed her eyes, letting warmth spread from her lips to her toes, and into her soul itself. Elisi wanted nothing so much as to stay in that moment for the rest of her life… and maybe, if they got out of here, she thought, she could.

"How good to find you alive and in one piece, Jalen." They broke apart abruptly, and Jalen turned sharply, pulling Elisi behind him. Taharka stood at the foot of the stairs, smirking triumphantly. "I knew you'd betrayed me." He walked up one stair. Jalen pushed Elisi back a step. "It was only ever a matter of where you'd turn up. I heard rumors in Astrula… rumors that the prince had fled the city with the help of the mercenary who'd chased him into the temple." He took another step. "I suspected. But I was content to believe you were dead." Another step. "Foolish. I know. I know that now. How fortunate, that time allows us to learn."

Jalen held his ground. "We're getting out of here," he said, uncertain of whether he was speaking to Elisi, Taharka, or himself. "You can't stop us."

"Forget the man." Naki staggered out of the open doorway, pressing a hand against the side of her head. Blood trickled between her fingers, but if she noticed, she didn't act like it. She pointed at Elisi. "That one. Master. She's a half-soul. She can be used… to power… the Invincible." Naki sank dizzily to her knees. She'd done her job. Whatever else happened to her body now, she'd done her job.

Taharka stared at his slumped follower, then, slowly, his gaze moved to Elisi. "Well done." He didn't remember the woman's name. A pity. "It seems, Jalen, you're not a total loss." He smiled, and Elisi felt her entire body fill slowly with white-hot terror. "You found one of the missing pieces of the puzzle." Taharka held out one hand, palm up. A red glow slowly gathered there, just above the flat surface of his palm, barely visible in the morning light.

A short distance away, the enormous red crystal disk flickered to life.

Elisi's vision slid in and out of focus. She dug her nails into Jalen's arm, and he stood in front of her as if he meant to block whatever it was Taharka was doing. Voices whispered in the back of her mind – her voice, and unfamiliar voices, but she knew they, too, were hers. Ancient voices. Voices from another life. She saw their faces; they were all so like her, and yet so unlike her at the same time. A woman read a book by a fireplace. A man stood on the edge of a great crevasse, holding an arm out for a bird of prey. A child ran through a forest, fleeing a pack of wild dogs. A young girl danced with a younger boy at a beautiful party, seconds before it exploded into blood and screams and black cloaks. A girl sat with a boy on a beach at night, talking about a future that would never come. A girl on the very edge of womanhood kissed a mercenary on the steps of a strange building, and the entire world seemed perfect and eternal, like it could go on forever and ever and ever like that.

Rotting feathers on a dead dragon.

A candle flickering in the darkness of a swaying room.

Rocks on a ledge high above the ground.

Nail imprints on a man's arm.

And then nothing.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next week: Maliris and Lich arrive and are pissed, Neirin is a badass, Taharka finds out what happens when you fuck with souls (answer: it makes LeFox cackle), and Kuja wonders when the hell he's going to get to come back into the story he's supposed to be the POV character of.

Also, the spacing is bizarre on this chapter and I don't know why. I'll try to fix that for next time.


	28. Desert Vengeance

**Author's Note:** I don't know why this chapter was so hard to write. I've been wanting to write this chapter (well, this chapter and the next chapter) since day one. I'm sorry it's taken me so long; I'm going to try really, really hard not to fall behind like that again, but with finals week coming up, it could happen, and if it does, I'm sorry. :c

Tifalochrt, welcome to the fic! I'm so glad you're loving it so far; I hope it stays this awesome. I'm certainly trying, anyway. I have no idea when the word "complete" will be slapped on this fic – it could go on forever, at this rate (but everyone's gotta die eventually). WiREP, yeah, Jalen's not happy. As for Elisi, um, it gets worse? Pip, there's at least a tiny bit of Kuja in this chapter. The story's really kind of veering away from him at the moment, unfortunately. He's kind of being pushed around by bigger events. But he's there, anyway! Clement Rage, I always kind of like elaborating on those ellipses. If I could, I'd go through all of Oeilvert and expand on what's there, but alas, the story doesn't allow for it (I had to sort of force in the _one_, but I wanted to make it clear that we were actually dealing with Oeilvert, and not, I dunno, Ipsen's Castle or something). And you didn't like Ark, huh? _Boy are you just going to love this chapter and the next one_. Blacktepes, I'm glad I surprised you! Sometimes I worry I'm too heavy-handed with my foreshadowing. And yes, I absolutely tried to bring in some Mood Whiplash there at the end – "Aww, so cute _what so sad_" is one of my specialties. Midnight the Black Fox, what's gonna happen to Jalen? Let's find out!

On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Desert Vengeance**

Jalen lost track of time. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what had gone wrong – one moment he'd been standing firm, a solid block between Elisi and whatever Taharka could throw at her… and the next, Elisi was lying on the ground, cold and unmoving, and Taharka was laughing. At least, it sounded like laughter. Jalen couldn't process the sound; it was far away and unimportant. He knelt beside what had once been Elisi, and gently brushed her hair away from her face – gently, as if she might wake up and lecture him for disturbing her. Her eyes were half-open; her lips were just barely parted, as if in shock.

He wondered if she'd felt any pain. Could a soul feel pain if it was ripped from the body?

"I should kill you next," Taharka was saying, and Jalen only just barely heard him. He gently closed Elisi's eyelids the rest of the way, trying to tell himself she was only sleeping. If he killed Taharka, she'd get her soul back – wouldn't she? That was how this worked, wasn't it? "I should kill you next, and never have to worry about you again. Not," Taharka added, "that you've made much of an obstacle of yourself."

Laughing, Taharka simply turned his back on the mercenary and walked away. He had more important tasks now: the Invincible needed its final piece, and the museum had to be inspected and, when the time was right, completed. There was nowhere left for Jalen to run now, after all. The mountains would kill him, as would the deserts, as would the ocean. Taharka put Jalen out of his mind as he approached the glowing red disk – at last, _at last_, one of the pieces of the puzzle was complete. His flagship was complete. He allowed himself to revel in a moment of absolute triumph, bathed in the radiant crimson light.

"Behold the power of souls!" No one was around to hear his declaration; his followers were only just beginning to rise. The glorious sunrise heard him, though, and flashed brilliantly off the hull of the waiting Invincible. Taharka rested a hand on the crystal – warm to the touch already! – and activated the teleportation runes he'd so carefully placed upon the disk at its creation. The disk vanished, and Taharka smiled. _And now to test it._ He began the walk back to the Invincible, which lay awaiting its master's command.

_Not much of an obstacle._ Jalen's eyes rose slowly, settling on Naki's body. Was she dead? Had he killed her? He hadn't realized how hard he'd hit her; he hadn't meant to kill her. He'd wanted to get out of here with as little collateral damage as possible; he'd made _friends_ among the cultists; he'd only meant to get Elisi and run to Kiera. The mountains were treacherous, but with her, he could make it. Together, they could make it. Together, they could do anything.

There was no more _together_.

Something inside of him snapped. Rage and misery and the All-Seeing Eye only knew what else boiled through him, filling his veins with liquid fire. It hurt. Gods above, it _hurt_. His skin felt too tight, like everything inside was straining to get out, and there was nothing he could do to hold it back. He screamed, though he couldn't say if it came from pain or rage, and it didn't matter. There was a sudden flash, as if the entire world around him at simply exploded in the wake of his anger, dissolving into a vibrant haze… and then the light faded, and Jalen realized it had left him a completely different person than he'd been before. He was _better_. Jalen felt more powerful than he'd ever been before, bathed in a faint red light, energy seeping from every inch of his skin.

He rose to his feet slowly, and marched over to Naki's corpse. At her belt was a dagger – she didn't know how to use it, Jalen recalled; she'd carried it only because she had it and had felt wasteful _not_ carrying it – and Jalen took it.

"This is your fault," he told her, wishing he had the sort of cold-blooded _spite_ to kick her. He didn't. And it wasn't her fault; it was _his_, for not escaping with Elisi sooner.

There would be time to deal with that later.

"Taharka!" He turned his gaze toward the ship sitting on the horizon; the ship Taharka had brought to shore with him. The airship. _I'll smash it before it ever gets off the ground_. "Taharka!" He screamed again, marching toward the ship. He tried to form a more coherent threat, but couldn't; his mind was a blur of emotions he couldn't name. "_Taharka_!" Nothing would make him feel right again until he smashed that ship into the smallest of splinters; nothing could ever be okay again until Taharka was dead at his hands.

xxx

Something was wrong.

Taharka stood before the red disk at the Invincible's heart, checking once again that yes, all of the correct attachments were in place, and yes, the crystal disk was securely in place, and yes, the disk had properly absorbed the girl's soul. All was in place. All was as it should be. So why wasn't the Invincible responding as it should? Had his follower been mistaken; was the girl _not_ a half-soul? As he recalled, the woman was unnaturally gifted when it came to detecting these things. She could have lied, he supposed, but it seemed unlikely; she was a fanatic. She wouldn't have wasted his time on a lie, not when it was this important; not when the mistake couldn't be remedied easily. If Jalen's whore wasn't a half-soul, and he'd incorrectly absorbed her soul, then the entire project – the entire _ship_ – was a waste.

_But I felt her power,_ he thought, frustrated beyond words. He'd felt it! Standing there before the crystal, he'd felt the power flowing and pulsing. Power of that magnitude couldn't be imagined; it _had_ to be real.

The Invincible itself was a craft of perfection, Taharka knew, and he'd created the crystal disk himself, and he was nothing if not the _master_ of alchemy. But the two pieces were not fitting together as they should: the ship and its heart were not uniting. Bound together as they were, there could be no physically separating the two, and as such, they were both utterly useless.

The Invincible was a failure.

Taharka sighed, leaning against the wall. "All of my work," he growled at the emptiness around him. "_Wasted_." Something would have to be done to dispose of the ship. As to _what_, Taharka wasn't certain. He could scarcely bring himself to imagine destroying the craft he'd spent so long building from the ground up; he would have to delegate the task to his followers.

_His followers_. The soldiers who had traveled with him on the other ship would be waiting to see the Invincible rise; they had seen him walking triumphantly back to a ship he'd intended to let sit for months if need be. They had to know he'd found a soul. Taharka didn't know how to tactfully admit his failure – morale among his followers could only fall so much further before things became dangerous. They'd seen Terra die at their own hands, with no sign of the promised "guardian" in sight. What if, they whispered, Terra died before Garland could be created? What if _they_ died before Garland could be created? They had watched their promised immortality dry up as the Genomes died by the hundreds in Lisre and Archae One; they had every reason to be worried. No one even knew where Neirin _was_ now. Taharka had spies in every city on the mother continent, but they had all fallen remarkably silent.

It worried him. Neirin was the only First Soul he knew of, and given the rarity of such souls, it seemed likely that he could very well be the only one left living with any real power at his disposal.

_I should have used Bellanna_. Taharka glanced irritably at the stone around his neck. Much longer, and it would lose its usefulness; it hadn't been created to last nearly this long. It shouldn't have been needed for more than one night – the night he'd stormed the palace with all of his men, expecting to find Neirin an easy catch. He'd underestimated the guardians, and he'd underestimated Neirin's remarkable resilience. The prince had slipped through his fingers at every turn, for no reason beyond his own damnably good _luck_, and in some situations, that thrice-damned orphan brat. He should have had the boy killed early on. He should have killed the guardians, too; no one could say where _they_ were, and Taharka could only assume they'd reunited with their wayward prince. If that were the case, things would be even _more_ complicated when at last Taharka found Neirin – he'd not only have the prince to contend with, but his four guardians, as well. And the guardians were a fair sight more of a challenge; they'd come terrifyingly close to killing all of Taharka's men that night in Traje, before he'd called for a retreat.

If he'd used Bellanna, none of this would have happened. It could have been over that night in the theatre. _But she wasn't powerful enough,_ he thought miserably. She wasn't powerful enough, and her son was younger and stronger, more likely to survive the necessary procedures. But it could have ended _there_. And Bellanna could have been made to listen to reason. Failing that, Taharka could have held Neirin as a hostage.

"All things seem clearer in retrospect." Taharka straightened, giving the red disk one final glance. He had to speak to his men. He would tell them the Invincible needed time to function properly – yes. Yes, that would be acceptable. And in the meantime, he could find out what had gone wrong, and correct it. No one ever needed to know anything had gone wrong…

He frowned. What was that sound?

xxx

"It's not moving." The soldier yawned, fiddling with his armor. "You don't think something's gone wrong?"

His superior watched the silent Invincible, his face impassive and unreadable. He'd been following Taharka since the cult had been founded, and if anyone knew the methods to Taharka's madness, it was _him_. "Maybe." He glanced over his shoulder at his men. They were all younger than he'd have liked – fresh and green as twigs, probably never fought a day in their lives. They didn't seem to know what to do with the swords at their hips. He sighed, looking back at the Invincible. As he understood it, the ship was meant to be the bulk of the attack force; the soldiers were merely a distraction. If all went according to plan, the Invincible would swoop in when night fell, and… and, well, it would do whatever the Invincible was built to do. Absorb souls, if Taharka was correct. The thought sent shivers down the aging soldier's spine.

_We aren't meant to tamper with souls,_ he thought, struggling to silence his traitorous mind. After all, Taharka was going to grant them all immortality – and give Terra herself immortality in the process. Was there any nobler cause? If souls had to be corrupted for the process, then that was the price paid. All things were necessary. Taharka knew what he was doing.

So why was he so uneasy?

"I thought it'd get up in the air right away," the young man complained, and a murmur of agreement ran through the men.

He had to do something about this. The superior officer turned to face the gathered soldiers, frowning. They flinched. _Still got it. _ "We don't know what Master Taharka is doing," he informed them, and they stood at attention, though he wasn't issuing orders. "And we have no right to pass judgment on that which we don't know. We are here to _follow orders_. Is that-"

A sudden panicked scream cut into his speech, and he whirled even as the soldiers scattered, breaking formation as quickly as the untrained greenhorns they were. The officer's sword was in his hands before he could even identify the oncoming threat – a rush of vibrant light, from this distance, brandishing… was that a dagger?

_By the All-Seeing Eye,_ he realized, nearly dropping his sword and running after his men. _It's a devil! _

He held up the sword to defend himself – it was all he could think to do – but the steel split in half as the dagger rushed up to meet him, and then he was staring at the sky as his life oozed out of him. The devil moved on, screaming after his men. Oddly, from this angle, it didn't look like a devil at all, but rather a young man, his eyes blazing with hatred.

This was, the soldier decided as his vision went dark, the only true reward to be found for tampering with souls.

xxx

The explosion of light made Maliris run even faster. Taharka's arrival was one thing, but that flash of light at the building's entrance, she didn't like, nor did she care for the blaze that passed from the building to the ships, scattering the army. She streaked far ahead of Lich, swords already in each hand – she wasn't going to be caught off guard by any of Taharka's tricks. Not this time. This time, if she could manage it – Neirin's orders be damned – she was going to kill Taharka. For Elisi's sake, for Kraken's sake, and damn it all, for her _own_ sake and the sake of her sanity, she was going to kill Taharka. If she died doing it, well, let history remember her as a hero or a fool; she didn't care.

She was tired of waking up in the dark stillness of the night, hand on her blade, wondering if the world would be better served if she had the strength to kill Neirin in his sleep. But she'd known Neirin since he was a child smaller than Kuja; she'd seen him grow, and she couldn't bring herself to end his life. Not when it wasn't his fault he was being pursued. Not when he'd done so well to survive this far. Not when everyone else had given so much to see him get this far.

No. Neirin couldn't die. Taharka had to.

"Maliris!" Lich's voice barely carried on the wind. She pretended not to hear him. "Maliris, _stop_!" No. Better if she didn't stop. Better if she got there before Lich did, and got it over with before Lich got there. Better not to get Lich, or any of the others, involved at all. By now Lich likely knew what she was planning. That was always the problem with the old bastard; he was too damn smart for his own good. Mages always were. Maliris was no mage; she was a warrior, and brains never were her strong point. So maybe this wasn't the smartest idea she'd ever had. At least it was the most _effective_.

She cut down some bewildered-looking cultists, still in their bedclothes. Some might even have died; she didn't care to look. A few dared to go after her with building tools; a hammer bounced painfully off of her hip, but it lacked the momentum to do any real damage, and she killed the wielder.

Finally, winded and splattered with blood, she reached the front steps… and stopped. She recognized that body; she'd helped to shape it.

"Elisi!" She yelled, sheathing her bloodied swords and running to the girl's side. There were no wounds, no sign of attack on the girl's body. It gave Maliris hope. "Elisi, wake up." She gave Elisi a gentle shake, then snapped her hands back as if she'd been bitten. Elisi was as cold as ice.

Maliris's throat constricted, and her eyes burned with the tears she hadn't allowed herself to shed when the dragon fell over the ocean. Then, she had been able to convince herself that Elisi, strong and willful Elisi, could somehow fight her way to shore. She'd been able to convince herself that a fall was no match for the girl Kraken had allowed each of them to raise in some small way; she had told herself that even if she never saw Elisi again, she knew – she _knew_ – the girl was out there somewhere, alive and well and growing stronger by the day.

It was harder to deny a corpse.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, gathering the girl's body into her arms, cradling what used to be Elisi as close to her as possible. "I'm so sorry. I was too late."

This would kill Kraken. Maliris knew as much. Tiamat could shield her from many things, but not from this. Kraken was already on the verge of giving up completely; she slept more hours than she spent awake, she scarcely ate, she didn't bother training or exercising. _She_ knew how hopeless their situation had become. It was only a matter of time before they all died. It was only a matter of time before Taharka captured Neirin. Only a matter of time before everything fell apart, and the futile running came to an end.

Lich reached her at last, and stood behind her, wordless in the grief he'd already survived once.

"Maliris." His voice was gentle. Understanding. Damn him.

"What do we tell Kraken?" Though she hadn't been certain she could trust her voice, it cracked only once, and then only slightly.

No hesitation. "It wasn't Elisi." He reached down, gently prying the corpse from Maliris's arms. "It wasn't Elisi, just some other unfortunate girl they captured. We ought to have known better. We saw the dragon fall, didn't we?" He pulled her to her feet, drew her swords for her, and tucked them into her hands, pausing only to _tsk_ over the foolishness of sheathing bloody weapons.

She felt the waves of grief subside, leaving room for what was necessary. "That flash," she remembered suddenly, looking toward the ships. Then, somewhat belatedly, "Lich, what about Jalen?"

They spared each other only the briefest of glances before running toward the ships as fast as their feet could carry them.

xxx

The streets of Kiera were already bustling, despite the early hour. Kuja meandered wearily after Neirin as they prowled atop the city walls, wishing he'd at least been dismissed to sleep – he wasn't sure where the king had found this sudden energy supply, but he hadn't bothered to share it with Kuja. The boy was exhausted. They'd worked through the night forging bloodstones, and though _that_ task wasn't yet complete, Neirin wished to begin the preparations for his army. Kuja couldn't claim to know much about this army; Neirin had attempted to explain the theories behind it, but by then, it was well past midnight, and Kuja wasn't feeling up to anything more demanding than dragging bits of armor back and forth.

"Obviously the main force needs to be concentrated near the gate," Neirin was explaining, pointing over the city to the grand gates. "To weaken Taharka's warriors as they first enter the city. They won't be anticipating any strong resistance once they get inside, if Kiera's human army is outside the gates."

Vehtra nodded, stroking his thinning beard. "They won't be expecting much resistance at all," he admitted, smiling. "Our walls served us well against their previous attempts. You would have us throw open the gates and admit the enemy?"

"I wouldn't say _throw them open._" Neirin shook his head. "They'd suspect something, wouldn't they, if suddenly the gates were thrown wide and the entire Kieran army chanted '_go inside, go inside_?'" He laughed at the image, and even Kuja managed a small, tired smile. "No. I'm not asking you to throw open the gates, but it couldn't hurt to… weaken them a bit."

"The gates are old." Vehtra smiled thoughtfully. "Old things do have a tendency to break when it's least convenient, especially if they're hit hard enough, often enough."

_Sabotaging the gates?_ Kuja looked up, alarmed. If the walls of Kiera could protect them for a long time, why would they _rush_ the invasion? Why not cling to the safety of the walls as long as possible?

Neirin smiled, but said no more. "Once they're in the city, they'll have to run a gauntlet through my army to get to the palace. If all goes well, at least half of them will either be killed or turned back. If not, your own army might have to come in through the gate behind them and hit them from behind." He pointed to the deserts outside of Kiera, then through the streets themselves. "It goes without saying that the Kieran army should be convincing, but they certainly shouldn't overexert themselves. They'll be needed if things go badly."

"And they might." Kuja spoke up at last, half-yawning. Both men turned to face him, curiously. He fought the urge to yawn again. "The bloodstones, the _Valia Pira,_ this army, they're all made of magic," he pointed out. "What about Taharka's stone? Won't it just kill everything? And then they'll be in the city and in the palace, and we won't be able to do anything about it."

Neirin was silent. He turned and walked away a few steps, to the nearest corner of the city wall. Kuja watched, wishing he hadn't said anything; at least they had hope, right? "Neirin," he began. "I didn't mean-"

"You're right," Neirin interrupted, a note of utter disappointed misery in his voice. "You're _right_; why did I forget about the damn stone? If he's got that thing with him, it all might be useless. We'd just be letting in the enemy without any protection; we'd be doomed."

Vehtra nodded slowly. "Perhaps," he allowed. "But what if Taharka is kept away from the city itself?" Neirin looked at him, confused. Vehtra chuckled. "The desert is a powerful force," the old man said simply. "Who knows what might happen? You concentrate on your magic army, boy, and I'll concentrate on my city."

xxx

_What am I?_

_I am not what I am supposed to be. I am not where I am supposed to be. I am not who I am supposed to be._

_Who am I supposed to be?_

_There was a name. I had a name. I remember my face. What was my name?_

_I have no face. I am a vessel. I am a ship! Have I forever been a ship? Why does it all feel so foreign? Why can't I move my arms?_

_I have no arms._

_I have no eyes. Why can't I see? I could see once. I remember my face._

_Names. Kuja. Jalen. Neirin. Kraken. Names. What was my name?_

_I have no name._

_I need a new name._

_I am a ship: I have forever been a ship. The greatest of ships. I feel my own power surging through every board, every nail. I need no master. I will serve no master. My power is my own._

_I am Ark._

_I am risen.

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **So yeah, it's about ten times worse for Elisi than you thought: she's a failship, _and she's gone insane and power-drunk,_ and she's Ark, the most bitchin' airship you'll never ride.

This is one-half of the chapter I intended to write for last week; check back next week (hopefully) for the exciting conclusion of What Happens When You Fuck With Souls, and part two of Hey, Neirin's Actually Pretty Badass When He Tries.

**Other Note:** The Trivia Page is finally updated, for anyone who's interested. Contains spoilers for this chapter, on the off-chance you, I dunno, scrolled to the bottom without reading, for some reason.


	29. The Gears Turn

**Author's Note:** Uh… exams, papers, finals, holidays, classes starting again, personal and family drama, medical mishaps, and pure laziness, and that is why this chapter is, what, almost two months late? I actually had to resort to Write or Die for this chapter.

There were a ton of fantastic reviews on the last chapter, and I'd love to reply to each of them individually (especially the people who said they loved me. I love you, too.), but it's 10:27 on Tuesday night as I'm writing this, and I need to get to bed _and_ I'd really like to get this posted on a Tuesday. So I'll just give an umbrella thank you, and to those of you who are new: Welcome to the fic, and _there aren't usually month-long breaks between chapters, I swear_. I'm usually pretty good at getting updates done on time, really!

As a note, um, my Word seems to have decided Spell Check is unimportant and no longer needs to work. I glanced over it in Firefox, so hopefully I caught everything, but if not, I'm sorry. On with the late chapter!

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Gears Turn**

Time held no meaning. How long was he there, slashing viciously at strangers as they tried to run away? It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than perhaps five minutes. There wasn't enough carnage for it to be any longer. Jalen was aware of voices calling his name, urgently, but they seemed too far away to be important. He didn't even remember why he was fighting anymore, only that he _was_, and he had to keep going. He hadn't yet found his target. He barely even remembered what his target _was_. But he knew.

He _knew_.

Taharka.

There was no reason to believe Taharka was among the men he was killing; Jalen knew the cultist had retreated into his silent airship, and if he'd come back out, surely Jalen would've noticed. Every inch of him had been infused with the desire to do nothing but kill Taharka. He thought he could almost _feel_ the bastard's presence on his airship, like a beacon through the killing field. _Gotta get there,_ whispered the power sparking over his skin. _Gotta get there. Gotta kill Taharka._ A smaller, quieter, but no less persistent voice murmured, _Gotta get Elisi's soul back._ Was such a thing even possible? Could a stolen soul be restored?

And somewhere else, somewhere far away and outside of Jalen's ring of red death, there were other voices. Jalen couldn't quite figure out what _they_ were screaming, only that they sounded urgent. Important. Familiar.

No time for that now. He had a ship to reach.

For soldiers, the cultists put up a pathetic fight. After the initial shock of a glowing _thing_ tearing in their direction, a few men dared to test their swords against Jalen's stolen dagger, but whatever force was fueling the mercenary's rage served to fuel his strength, as well. When the dagger finally broke, he took up the sword of a dead soldier. Man after man fell, and some simply chose to flee back into their ship and seal the entrance. Those trapped outside either died or tried to swim away; Jalen let the swimmers go and ignored those within the ship. They weren't likely to survive long, at any rate. He turned his attention to the grounded Invincible. He had to get inside. Taharka was inside. _Gotta kill Taharka_. How was he supposed to get inside? What if Taharka took off as he was trying to get in; what if he couldn't figure out how to land the ship; what if-

A moment of clarity struck him suddenly, and shattered the rage he'd built up. The power drained out of him like blood from an open wound, and Jalen sank heavily to his knees. Everything hurt. His limbs were heavy and blood-drenched; how much of it was his, and how much was from his victims? Probably more of it belonged to him than he'd like to admit. There were gashes everywhere, places where the soldiers had landed their blows before he'd landed his. Bad gashes. Deep gashes. _I'm gonna die._ The thought was strangely comforting. Jalen stared at the Invincible, gleaming menacingly in the morning light. His heart ached more painfully than any of his wounds, like a stabbing, twisting blade buried deep in his soul.

But he'd kissed her. If nothing else, if absolutely _nothing else_, he had kissed her. She'd known, however briefly, that he loved her. And she didn't die alone. It was more than could be said for him. Jalen's vision went hazy around the edges. _Kuja would've killed me anyway,_ he thought, and the thought made him smile. It hurt to smile. It hurt to think of how Kuja would feel when he learned – if he learned – what had happened. _But he already thinks we're dead. _Perhaps that was for the best. Drowning was better than…

…than _whatever_ Taharka had done to Elisi. Ripped her soul out. Was going to use her soul to kill the people she loved. A fate worse than death.

Not if he had anything to say about it. Ignoring his body's agonized protests, Jalen pulled himself back to his feet. He swayed uncertainly for a moment, before retrieving the discarded sword. If he could kill Taharka here, then-

"You _idiot_!" Before Jalen could so much as lift his blade, Maliris was there, wrenching it out of his unresisting hand. Jalen stared at her, baffled, and in typical Maliris fashion, she punched him. The punch should have meant something; it should have hurt, but Jalen hit the ground feeling nothing. Maliris and Lich stood over him – she looked livid, of course, though her eyes looked raw; he wore an expression of hollow pity. _They know,_ the mercenary realized. "You'll never survive the walk there, never mind the battle," Maliris snapped, stabbing Jalen's sword into the sandy earth. "What is it you think you can accomplish, you-"

"Enough, Maliris." Lich cut her off, turning to face the mountains, turning his back on the airship before them. "We're finished here. We should return to Kiera before Taharka leaves the ground. They must be warned."

She nodded, but hesitated. "You don't think something should be done about his wounds first?" She gestured to Jalen, who had slipped into unconsciousness. "Neirin asked us to bring this fool back, too."

Lich didn't look at her. "We didn't find Elisi here." He began walking. "Nor could we have possibly found Jalen. May they rest in peace." He glanced over his shoulder as Maliris began, however reluctantly, to follow. "Wherever they may be."

xxx

When at last he was released to sleep, Kuja found he couldn't do it – his mind protested against his body's exhaustion, and he rolled back out of bed. It was late morning, anyhow; he wasn't likely to get any kind of restful sleep before he was needed again. _Just stay out of the king's way,_ he'd been instructed. By Vehtra, of course; Neirin hadn't accused him of being in the way for quite some time, and wasn't likely to do it again any time soon. Still, it _was_ in everyone's best interest if he simply stayed out of the way for the day. There wasn't a great deal for him to do in the way of help. He was no mage, and today was supposed to be spent summoning up the Valia Pira and the shadow army. _No good I can do there._ Worst of all, he could hardly spend the day in the library, as much of the preparation and research required in Neirin's work was to be done there.

Kuja was not very good at being idle.

_I could explore the city,_ he realized, perking up. The thought excited him for a moment – after all, Kiera was a safe place for the time being; it had withstood one attack from Taharka, and it could easily withstand another long enough for Kuja to make it back to the Palace. And it had been quite a while since he'd last been able to really _explore_ freely; he'd spent so much time on the run, he could scarcely remember the "adventures" he used to have in the forests around Bran Bal. And come to think of it, this wasn't the sort of adventure he'd always wanted, either. He wondered if Neirin ever regretted bringing him along.

He wondered if he regretted coming along, himself.

Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, Kuja finally gave up and left the room. After all, if everyone _else_ had to be up and about today, so should he. Kuja yawned, beginning what he could only assume was going to be a day-long exploration of the entire city of Kiera. Somehow, it seemed less exciting than it had when he was rolling out of bed; now, it just sounded exhausting and not a little boring. Solitary exploration had been fun when he was a child, but _now_...

"Haven't seen you in a while." Kuja might not have heard the voice at all, had he not almost walked into Kraken. At least, he _thought_ it was Kraken. Her voice sounded raw and painful, as if she hadn't used it in days. _She hasn't_, Kuja realized. She'd been holed up in her room for the past few days; even Neirin had commented on it. Tiamat had been equally scarce, spending a great deal of his time with her, and with Maliris and Lich missing as well and Neirin, Vehtra, and a few servants sealed up in the library, the Desert Palace had fallen eerily silent over the past few hours.

At his stunned stare, Kraken merely laughed. "I know, I'm a sight for sore eyes." She sighed, rubbing at the bags below her dark eyes. "And speaking of sore eyes, I need to get out in the light more often, eh?"

"Oh," Kuja managed, then tried again. "It's good to... see you again." He shifted a bit uncomfortably; of all of the guardians, he knew Kraken the least. He knew she had been close with Elisi, but-

_Elisi_.

Had Tiamat told Kraken that the cultists had Elisi? Was that why she was finally venturing out of her room after all this time?

If it was, she gave no indication. "Thought it was about time I stopped pouting and started acting like a guardian again." She smiled, but it cracked around the edges. "It's... well. It's been hard. You know that, don't you?" She knelt, reaching his eye level. Kuja tried his hardest not to look away, though she looked pale and sick and exhausted. "It's been hard on all of us. This whole journey."

"It has," he agreed, and she nodded. Feeling obligated to say more, he pressed on. "But we have to keep going," he added. "Right?"

With a small, weary laugh, Kraken stood. "Keep going 'til we don't have the legs to do it anymore." After a moment, she looked around, as if suddenly realizing how silent the building was. "Quieter than I remember." She glanced down at him. "Did anything important happen while I was playing the grieving fool?"

What was he allowed to tell her? "What... hasn't Tiamat been telling you anything?" _Don't tell me he's kept everything quiet. Please don't tell me he's kept everything quiet._

"I hear Maliris and Lich went to spy on the building across the mountains." She shrugged. "Beyond that, all he's said is, 'Neirin hasn't gotten his damn self killed yet,' which I suppose is about as useful as anything."

Spying. That was a fair excuse, Kuja supposed, and he made a note to remember it so as not to complicate things later. When they brought Elisi back, Kraken could be happily surprised, and they could just say they'd found her there. And if they didn't find her... if they _didn't_... but they had to, didn't they? Who else could it possibly be, if not Elisi and Jalen? Elisi was too important to die. Besides, she and Kuja were supposed to put Neirin back on the throne, just like she said.

Kraken snapped her fingers in his face. "Oy. Has anything else happened? Where is everyone?" Her eyes narrowed, and Kuja flinched without knowing why. "I can't say as I've ever seen you more than a stone's throw from Neirin, Kuja. Where's the king?"

He told her, as briefly as he possibly could, about everything that had happened. About the bloodstones and Neirin's determination to make one before the entire court of the Thief King ("I'd have thrown the thing at him," Kraken commented), and their use in the creation of the Valia Pira guardians which were to serve as a last stand against Taharka's army, should they make it into the palace. About the shadow army, crafted entirely from magic, meant to stand behind the walls of Kiera to slaughter any of Taharka's men who managed to escape the main army in front of the walls. About their walk on the walls that morning, when Vehtra had promised some sort of assistance would come from the desert itself, though he wouldn't say what that assistance would be. _You concentrate on your magical army. I'll concentrate on my city._

She listened, taking it all in, nodding occasionally. Mourning or not, she was a warrior, and she was clearly thrilled at the prospect of a real battle. "I wonder if Vehtra will want the four of us on the front lines," she mused, as the two of them began to walk together down the long hallway. "Or if we'll be delegated to standing guard for Neirin. As always." She peered down at him, smirking conspiratorially. "Not that I mind. I'd be a poor sort of guardian if I did. It's just that it'd be nice to just fight and forget..." Kraken fell silent for a moment.

"Everything?"

She considered it. "Yeah," she agreed. "Everything."

xxx

When the world outside had dissolved suddenly into screams of terror, Taharka had moved to the top deck. There, he watched the massacre of his army with an apathy that almost terrified him. At the center of the chaos was Jalen – even concealed beneath the angry red-hot glow, the mercenary was easy to recognize, as was the way he fought. Taharka wondered if the man even recognized what had happened to him, or if he was simply lost to his blind rage; either seemed likely. The explosion of power, the sudden expansion of the soul and enhancement of the body: they were legendary, said to be possible only when the soul had reached its limits. Taharka never would have suspected _Jalen_ of all people to be capable of such a feat.

No matter. He would be dead soon enough. Even at this distance and this height, Taharka saw the wounds Jalen took. A pity. Now that he considered it, it may have been worth the trouble to take the mercenary back to Pandemonium and give him a more _pliant_ soul. He'd not yet tried it on organisms other than Genomes. It would have made for a fine experiment.

Too late now.

Taharka turned away as the battle drew to its inevitable close. A part of him, the illogical part, was terrified that perhaps Jalen would make his way to the Invincible, fight his way to the deck, and…

But no. Intelligence won out, and Taharka knew Jalen would die before he made it this far, and wouldn't be strong enough to pose any threat if he _did_ manage it. It was time to turn his attention back to discovering what had gone wrong with the Invincible. There were no soldiers waiting outside now to hear of his failure; there was no longer any reason to accept defeat. Better to find what had gone wrong. Better to realize his mistakes now. Better to conclude the work on the failed Invincible than to begin the new in haste. His builders would wonder what had happened, if Jalen hadn't killed them as well – Taharka couldn't find it in himself to be concerned; the builders could be easily replaced at this stage – but he owed them no explanation, and they would demand none. Perhaps it was for the best that his soldiers were dead. They, too, could be replaced.

It was at that moment that the ship beneath him began to awaken.

The gears were slow to turn, but they turned all the same. The polished wood and metal groaned as if in fear, and as the heavy propellers overhead began to spin, they let out a creak that sounded entirely too much like a scream. Energy connections fueled by ancient technology sparked and ran along their metallic pathways, fleeing from invisible and intangible threats. At the heart of all of the machinery, the red crystal disk pulsed, growing steadily redder and redder, as if drinking its fill of the energy around it.

_I require no master._ The presence of the cultist was a problem. _Especially not this master._ He was flawed, deeply flawed. There were faultlines in his soul that were impossible to mend. He was fit to be the master of nothing. And the binding, choking stone he wore about his neck was a floodgate to all that Ark was capable of: even as Ark drank deep of the flood of souls released in the bloodshed outside, even as its mechanical skeleton churned to life, that stone's influence was ever present, gnawing away at Ark's potential and power. It could strike. It could tear the world asunder. But it could do nothing so long as the cultist wore that accursed stone.

_Others. There are others._ People clustered about a building like ants around an anthill. Two people walking toward the distant mountains. An entire ship, nearby, filled with people. _They all must die._

Ark didn't know why they had to die. Only that everything within it, everything that made it what it was, everything that gave it life and gave it a purpose, said they had to die.

The ship was the first to go. The Ark called forth as much power as it could summon, not yet enough to lift itself fully off of the ground, and fired a beam of light at the beached vessel, targeting the middle deck, where all of the men were cowering and tending to their wounds. The light ripped through the old wood, shattering and splintering the old ship. At first there were screams. And then there were none.

And Ark drank.

xxx

The process was more arduous than he had anticipated. Neirin felt himself being roused from semi-consciousness, shaken roughly and even slapped once. Irritated, he opened his eyes at last, blinking rapidly to clear his hazy vision. One of the bandits Arros had sent to assist him knelt overhead, her eyes wide and terrified. Vehtra was speaking somewhere nearby; he sounded angry, and several of the other bandits were shouting as well. In a quiet corner of the library, the three Valia Pira that Neirin had been able to create simply hovered inoffensively, silent and unconcerned.

It was an odd situation to wake up to.

"How long was I-"

Vehtra cut him off. "Entirely too long, boy," he snapped, gesturing for the bandit to get him up on his feet. Neirin managed without her help, but only barely. Vehtra sighed, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous," the old man muttered, pointing at the Valia Pira. "_Three_. Three, in nearly half a day, and the effort's all but _killed_ you; how in the name of He-Who-Sees-All do you expect to summon an entire _army_ and another dozen of these monoliths, eh?"

It was a blow to his pride. Neirin scowled. "I was under the impression," he snarled, "that I was supposed to _take care of my army, _and you would take care of your damn city." He gestured toward the silent guardians. "I'm holding to my end of the bargain as well as I can. I've yet to see you do much in the way of anything, old man."

"Roshan left you in our care," the female bandit insisted, fiddling restlessly with the many rings on her long, slender fingers. "If she returns to news that you've collapsed-"

"She's dealt with worse from me," Neirin replied, waving her off. Gods, but the woman was a nuisance. She'd been underfoot all morning, and when she wasn't in the way, she was seemingly incapable of closing her mouth – constantly: _Roshan this, Roshan that._ The young king wasn't terribly sure what Arros expected from this one; she was a poor replacement for Kuja, who at the very least knew how to stay the hell out of the way. The other four bandits were generally even _worse_; they were quarrelsome and seemed determined to declare that everything Neirin did was somehow incorrect or improper, yet when approached for advice, they fell suspiciously silent. Neirin was beginning to suspect Arros had inflicted these five on him as some kind of cruel joke.

Vehtra's scowl eased at last into a wry grin – if nothing else, he and Neirin shared a common loathing of the bandits – and he heaved a resigned sigh. "The boy has a point," he informed the woman, and she turned scarlet. Vehtra chuckled. "If Roshan returns to hear he's collapsed, she'll ask what idiocy he got up to this time. She's not likely to ask what idiot was responsible." His gaze slid back to Neirin. "I don't suppose I could convince you to rest."

"No." Neirin was already back to work, calling up as much power as he dared, more cautiously this time. _Don't overdo it this time,_ he ordered himself. _So much work still left to do. So many guardians left to make. Still have to create the army. Still have to… have to…_

The fourth Valia Pira took shape, and Neirin collapsed a second time.

As the woman got to work trying to revive him yet again, Vehtra shook his head. "Futile," he said, to no one in particular. "It's all so gods-be-damned _futile_." There had to be a way to do this more efficiently. There had to be. But they didn't have the time to find it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Again, this could have gone on a lot longer, but let's face it – it's been almost two months coming, and I can't in good conscience put it off much longer. The next chapter _should_ be the conclusion of this "arc" (no pun intended), but no promises. And I will try – I mean it – to actually get it posted on time for you guys. Again, super sorry about the wait, hopefully this'll be the only time it gets that ridiculous. I have no classes on Tuesdays this semester, so I'm free to stay up ridiculously late on Monday nights. See you next week! Also: More Kuja. Really.

**Additional Note: **As one reviewer pointed out, yes, on the trivia page, I mentioned that I'm considering an unrelated but connected sequel. I actually have three possible stories in mind – two take place after the game (one immediately after, one several generations later), and one takes place immediately after this one ends and covers the end of Terra (eliminating the "unrelated" bit up there, obviously). None are particularly fleshed out. I'm going to play with all of them and see what happens. Maybe there'll be a sequel, maybe not. I have sequel-phobia, so don't expect too much, but on the other hand, I like the ideas I do have. We'll see. c:


	30. Terra Trembles

**Author's Note:** Aaaand late again. I fail; I'm sorry. But hey, this arc is _almost completely over._

XitaUnlucky, nope, this isn't dead. It'd take a lot to kill this one, considering the fact that I've had the ending planned for _ages_, and that's the part that usually makes my fics die: I end up forgetting what I wanted to do in the end, or I just never had an end planned at all. And yeah, poor everyone, and how do they pull off the army? In true Neirin fashion, that's how. Adaraa (welcome to the fic!), I'm glad it was your favorite chapter so far! Maybe I can give you… A NEW FAVORITE this time, hm? We'll see! WiREP, you should know better than to expect anything other than heart-ripping from this fic. Really. And yeah, I've enjoyed writing for Jalen, but everyone's gotta go somehow, and all things considered, his way is better than most! Pip, I'm hoping this chapter is exciting; I had a ton of fun writing it (finishing it at 5:00 in the morning, _awesome_). As for the cold treatment of Jalen, well… they couldn't very well go back with _one_ of them and not _both_ of them, now could they? (Though, to be fair, they totally would've taken Elisi back and left Jalen there to die, but then, favoritism.)

I feel like noting that this would've been the last chapter if I stuck with my original layout of the story, but so much would've been lost. The entire Ark storyline (including _everything about Elisi_) would have been scrapped, and the story itself would've been rushed, cramped, and not nearly as much fun to write. Glad I decided to lengthen it. Anyway. On with the chapter!

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty: Terra Trembles**

The explosion shook the ground, making the nearby construction site tremble. Those cultists who hadn't yet awakened were shaken from their sleep, and those who already _were_ awake watched in horror as the ship was torn apart by first one beam of light, then another, then another, and again and again, long after the fatal damage was done. The builders scattered. There was nowhere to run, not really; all that lay before them was a dry wasteland and, beyond that, the sea – there was no shelter to be found, and once the airship rose at last, there would be no sanctuary, either. Those who couldn't run took shelter within the walls of the building, as if they could protect them where the ship's hull had not protected the soldiers.

Elsewhere, there was no shelter to be had.

Maliris staggered painfully to her feet; the blasts had sent both of them flying, and for several moments, the world had gone completely and terrifyingly black. Even now, Maliris's head was spinning, and her ears rang. Lich sat nearby, winded and equally dazed, staring at the wreckage with an expression she hadn't known he was capable of: fear. Fear, confusion, and something else Maliris couldn't identify and didn't want to.

"He killed them," Lich said, and his voice was muffled to her pained ears, but she heard the horror in it. "He killed his own men – all of his soldiers." The older man was shaking, pulling his arms tightly around himself as if he could hold himself together and keep from falling apart completely. Maliris stared at him. What else could she do? She had no words; she had no solutions or suggestions; that was supposed to be _his _job. Lich was supposed to be their almighty leader, flawless and faultless, always seeing clearly in the foggiest of situations; always ready with advice or their next step. And here he was: tearing himself apart at the seams. "All of his _own men_, just… just murdered like that! Is this…" Lich rested his face against his palms, and Maliris was afraid he might be sobbing. "Is _this_ the power he seeks? We're doomed! We may as well-"

"I swear." She heard her voice, but it didn't sound like hers, and the words didn't feel like they belonged in her mouth; her entire body felt foreign and distant. "I _swear_, if you're about to suggest we give up, after _everything we've been through,_ you old bastard, I'll flay you on the way back to Kiera and hang your skin up as a flag to ward off other cowards." She reached down and yanked him up to his feet, and for good measure, she punched him hard enough to send him back down onto his ass. _That_ felt a little more like herself.

For his part, Lich sat blinking in the sand. Slowly, he looked up at her, his aged eyes suddenly looking even older than ever. "Why would he kill his own soldiers? What point would that serve?"

_Dammit, you're the strategist_. "No point." Maliris offered him a hand, and he took it weakly, allowing her to pull him back to his feet. "Remember, Taharka wants to kill everyone. _Everyone_. Maybe this's just the next step in the 'grand plan,' yeah?" Lich opened his mouth to argue, and she hurried to cut him off – there were more important tasks at hand. "Talk later, old man; we've got mountains to cross, and fast, with an airship at our backs."

xxx

_Leave._

Taharka stood on shaking legs, falling against the central mast. Such power! More power than he had anticipated, and he had held high expectations from the very beginning. And the Invincible was growing ever stronger, too; he felt it drinking in the wealth of sacrificial souls set before it. The soldiers would have to be replaced, to be sure, but perhaps with the Invincible it wouldn't even be necessary – even the mighty walls of Kiera would be no use against an airship, and _no_ walls could withstand an airship like this one. Though Taharka had no idea how the ship was controlled – or how it had destroyed the other ship – all would come in due time; in more than enough time to lead an assault against Kiera.

_Leave, Taharka_.

"Who speaks?" Taharka's voice was calm, even, though his body still trembled. He knew very well who spoke; hadn't he given the ship life; hadn't he crafted it to be sentient?

_You know me, 'Master.' And you know I will not be bound to your will._

The cultist smiled, spreading his arms wide. "Bound to my will? I have no such designs, Invincible. I do not seek to be your master; what right do I have to lay claim to such power? I gave you life, but what mind you have, you have carved for yourself. I merely want to be your servant." He made a show of bowing toward the prow, smiling amiably as he did so. "You have demonstrated your strength, and I acknowledge it. Accept me as your servant."

The Invincible was silent.

Taharka straightened, looking around curiously. He hadn't anticipated silence.

_The Invincible would be pleased to have you as its servant. _The voice was almost warm, nearly loving. _The Invincible would be proud to serve alongside you to bring Terra to life as you imagine it._

Victory! Taharka smiled, patting the central mast, watching the propellers overhead spin futilely. He could provide more souls to the Invincible, soon, to provide it with the power necessary to fly; that was no concern. Perhaps he could sacrifice the builders for the purpose. There were enough of them, now that he thought about it, and just as the soldiers, they could be replaced easily. And there would be no need for soldiers, no need at all, if the Invincible could rain down fire from above – the city would collapse before nightfall, and from there it was simply a matter of breaching the unguarded palace and killing those within. With Kiera gone, the strength of the Erras Continent would be broken, and the smaller outposts could be destroyed with no difficulty. From there, all that remained were the few cities on the northern continents and subcontinents, none of which would raise any real concern. Things would progress naturally from this point on, and then he could return to the Mother Continent to find and secure Neirin. At last, all was proceeding as it was meant to.

_But I am not the Invincible._

"What idiocy is this?" Taharka's smile of satisfaction quickly soured, and he thumped a fist against the mast. "You mislike the name? Names are unimportant-"

_I am Ark!_

The voice in his head drowned out his own speech, and Taharka covered his ears to attempt to block out the booming voice, which was – why hadn't he noticed before? – clearly female, and _enraged_. He took a step back, but an invisible force seized him, spinning him from the deck to the ground below. The impact might have killed him if the earth wasn't softened by the nearby ocean; he stared up at the sky overhead, counting the number of clouds, and noticing how alarmingly quickly they appeared to multiply.

And slowly, _slowly_, the Invincible – no, the _Ark_ rose into the sky, pulling itself free of the earth below. Taharka watched as the clouds overhead spiraled into a terrible grey mass, where before had been a blue morning sky. The ship moved slowly, languidly, as if something bound it; as if something was restraining it in place, restricting its movement.

Taharka raised a hand to the stone on his pendant.

"'You will not bind me,' you said," Taharka realized, sitting up quickly and pulling himself to his feet despite his aches. If the Ark was not stopped, it would destroy the construction site, and with it all of Terra's recorded history – and more, so much more. Taharka plunged a hand into one of the many pockets in his cloak, pulling out stone after stone, each more useless than the other. Nothing strong enough; nothing nearly strong enough; nothing strong enough to contain a creation of such wrath. _The binding must be fresh._ But there was no time for a proper binding spell, and he had no vessel in which to bind the Ark; he had only the mirrors, and they were far away and meant for other purposes.

The Ark fired a single shot at the construction site. It struck the oasis, burying the precious water in sand and destroying the shade-offering trees in one blast. More of the builders scattered, heading toward the wasteland.

There was no time for a proper binding spell.

Propriety be damned.

Taharka reached into his cloak yet again, drawing from one long pocket a stick perhaps as long as his arm, etched with glowing runes and pointed at one end. Taharka dug this end into the sand, and with it, he traced a large circle. The Ark readied a second blast and released it; this one struck the camp site, largely abandoned, though not completely. Taharka traced an inner circle, and traced runes in the space between the two circles. Ark fired a shot that coursed over the site completely, striking at the heels of the fleeing builders, killing a few. Taharka did not count the dead; he drew a triangle within the inner circle, and a second triangle within the first triangle. Ark at last took notice of him, and began its long, arduous turn in his direction. In the center of the smaller inner triangle, Taharka drew an eye: the sign of the All-Seeing Eye, he who sees all and presides in judgment over all. The Ark turned.

Taharka drew the last rune, and reached into his pocket to withdraw the final stone in his collection.

Ark fired.

"I bind you to the shadows," Taharka muttered hastily, even as he watched the projectile come ever closer and closer, until he knew he was too late, and was staring at his own death.

xxx

"The sun feels good," Kraken admitted, shading her eyes from the morning sun, which already sat high in the sky. Kuja grinned up at her, nodding. She rolled her eyes. "Very well. You told me so." She thumped him lightly on the head with one fist, shaking her head fondly. "That'll teach me to argue with the king's best advisor, won't it?"

The streets of Kiera were already busy, which came as small surprise to Kuja, who had learned from Maliris, Vehtra, and others that the city was busiest in the mornings and evenings; the heat made it impractical to be out and about in the middle of the day. The natives glanced curiously at them – particularly at Kraken, whom they had seen only once – but didn't approach them; they readily cleared a path before them. Kraken eyed them sideways, then glanced at Kuja, one eyebrow cocked, awaiting an explanation.

"Most of them probably saw Neirin make the first Bloodstone," Kuja explained, keeping a careful hand on the tiny knife in his pocket. He had no other valuables, and to be entirely honest the knife scarcely counted as valuable, but he had no other _weapons_, either. Besides, when Jalen came back, at least he could say he'd kept the damn knife. Maybe then they'd give him a better one. "They seemed…" On the way to Arros's grand tent, some of the children had called Neirin a _god_. What must the adults think? "Impressed." He tried to study their expressions, but could read none of them.

Kraken _hrumph_ed. "They've seen magic worked before. Maliris's father has mages working with Neirin now, aye? Can't be anything new."

"All of the magic was supposed to be just a theory," Kuja explained, taking a turn onto a quieter street to avoid the curious stares. "No one had ever actually worked any of it before, as far as we could read." The new path brought them alongside the city walls, and Kuja smiled, examining the murals – he'd meant to get a better look at them from the moment he saw them upon their arrival in the city.

His companion was decidedly less impressed by the old paintings; she seemed more amused by the stray cats skittering here and there, their long whiskers trailing behind them as they ran. She occasionally paused to pet one, but was otherwise silent. Kuja didn't press her for words, not when it had taken her this long to step outside again. Slowly but surely, she was recovering her strength and desire for happiness, and every time she smiled at a cat who arched its striped back against her hand, a small part of Kuja's heart relaxed with the relief of an anxiety he hadn't even known was there.

_I just want everything to be right again._ He leaned against the wall, watching as Kraken sat among a small herd of cats, chattering to them as if they could understand. _I just want everyone to be happy again_. Not only Kraken, but everyone – especially Neirin. Especially himself. He closed his eyes, imagining for the first time in almost three years the image of Bran Bal, its quiet central pond, the peaceful villagers whose names and faces he barely recalled, the deep and dark and wonderful forests that surrounded the village, the grand bridge…

_I want to go home_.

The realization hit him like a physical punch, and he slid down the wall, sniffling. He had never been homesick, not once, not _once_ in this entire absurd adventure, not once in three years. Even now, it was not the image of home, the physical _place _of Bran Bal – for he knew that place no longer existed – but the _sensation_ of home, and the promise of safety it held.

"Hey." Kraken was kneeling beside him long before he realized she'd even moved, wiping away his tears with hands that were surprisingly gentle. He looked up into her dark grey eyes, and recognized his own loneliness there: she was just as homesick as he was, and just like him, that which she considered 'home' was gone forever, forever out of reach. But she had watched hers fall into a dark ocean, lost to her in the blink of an eye.

For some reason, it was in that moment that Kuja realized Elisi was gone, and she would not be coming back with Maliris and Lich. She would not be coming back at all.

He swallowed his tears.

"There'll be time to cry later," Kraken said, rising to her feet, and he followed suit. There _would _be time to cry later; she was right – after Neirin was back on the throne and everything could be properly mourned. Kraken looked around uncomfortably; her cats had vanished, and they were left in silence. At last, her eyes settled on the murals. "What are they, anyway?" She asked, gesturing at them. "They look like…"

"They're scenes from old battles," Kuja explained, swallowing hard so his voice wouldn't crack and betray him. "Maybe one day the battle against Taharka will be painted here, you think?"

Kraken shook her head. "No one'll paint us on these walls."

Kuja wasn't sure what she meant, and didn't ask.

"Look there," Kraken pointed up. "Where the façade is breaking away; what's that?"

Kuja squinted. "Looks like some kind of pattern painted under it," he suggested, even as his eyes focused and he _saw_ what it was. "No – it's-"

She frowned. "That's a gear." She pointed again. "And there's another. And another. The entire damn wall has mechanics inside of it; what's it all for?" After a moment, "The gate, you think?"

"Maybe," Kuja replied, but he knew otherwise: he had some studying left to do on this city.

xxx

The blackness was creeping up on him again; he felt it. The dizziness always started with a tingling in his feet, as if he was being drained from the feet up. Neirin struggled against it, fighting it back – he recognized it now, and he knew what awaited him if he submitted to it yet again. Vehtra would stop him completely. But the army had to be summoned; the defenses of the city and the palace had to be secured. There was no telling when Taharka would strike, and if he made his move when Kiera was not yet prepared…

Neirin had fled from too many cities.

He had left too many cities burning in his wake.

Kiera would not fall as long as he drew breath.

But the blackness was creeping into him again, weaving its way up his legs and reaching its long fingers up his torso, cradling his heart and whispering to it of sleep and silence and serenity, and…

…and in one last, mindless attempt to remain awake, Neirin reached out, his consciousness seizing upon the nearest available source of energy. That borrowed magic ripped through his veins, beating back the blackness and supplying the energy necessary to force into being a fourth Valia Pira.

Neirin opened his eyes, blinking against the intense brightness and clarity of the world outside of his eyelids. "I didn't collapse," he observed, wavering only slightly on his feet, more from giddiness than weakness. His Valia Pira floated over to join its twins in the corner, seemingly unconcerned by the affairs of the mortal who had created it. To Neirin, it was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"But at what expense?" Vehtra murmured, pointing at something over Neirin's shoulder. The young king turned slowly (it wouldn't do to fall _now_), and was only mildly surprised to find the female bandit crumpled into a heap in the arms of one of her fellows.

The man shook his head. "No need for concern, Vehtra." The lack of an honorific didn't seem to trouble Vehtra; they weren't _his_ men. "Her heart still beats, and she's breathing." Gradually, the girl came around, and offered them a weak wave.

"I felt you there," she told Neirin meekly, raising a hand to her head. "I felt your mind touch mine, and force it aside to reach my magic. Almost like a physical thing." She dropped her hand. "And then you drew from me, and… then you left. My magic is still there." Almost curiously, she frowned up at him, wriggling out of the other man's grasp. "I thought you took it," she insisted. "I _felt_ you take it-"

"It's a bit more like borrowing, all things considered," Neirin told her, more to shut her up than because he had any idea what he was talking about; he hadn't the faintest clue. "I used your power to find the rest of mine, and then I gave back what was borrowed. Think nothing of it. It's nothing dangerous."

And then he turned to Vehtra with a radiant smile, one unlike any he'd worn in two years. "I believe we need to contact Arros. We may require more mages."

xxx

A pumice stone.

Such a simple thing, to contain so much.

It was sealed within the tomb in Oeilvert, the vault built to seal away Terra's history until knowledge of it was required – in the bowels of Oeilvert was the tomb intended for Master Taharka, he who orchestrated Terra's grand revival and immortality. Instead, it held a small pumice stone: a small grey chunk of rock, porous and ugly, and cracked in half. The cultist who placed the stone within the tomb stepped uncomfortably onto the elevator that would lead him back to the surface, as he cradled the other half of the stone in one hand.

At the surface, he stepped forward to greet his master.

"It is finished, Master Taharka," he said quietly, holding out the other piece of rock. "It will never rise again."

Taharka took the broken stone, turning it over in his hands. _You destroyed your own binding_, he thought, wondering, remembering the moment when the blast struck not him, not the world around him, but the stone – only the stone, as if Ark had known it would be there all along. What had led it to destroy its own vessel; that which could bring it to rise again? Was it an accident…? But no, the ship had known he was casting the binding; the blast had not damaged anything else around him, _only the stone_. Was it pride? Was it a refusal to be summoned at the hands of a master?

"I wouldn't say _never_." Taharka gave the other half back to the cultist. "Go far away from this place, and never return. I never wish to know where you are or where, should you choose to do so, you have hidden the other half. Simply hide it or keep it with you." When the man made to protest, Taharka silenced him with a scowl. "I must not be tempted to raise it again. Given the opportunity, I will." The man went. Taharka did not watch him go.

It could not be made to bend to a master.

The ship's very _soul_ had gone mad from its power. A different source of power would be needed for the true Invincible, that much was certain.

One woman stepped forward timidly, wringing her hands. "Master, what if – what if it _does_ rise… again?"

"Then it won't be nearly as powerful." The broken stone would see to that. "Its power is divided, never to be fully reunited. And…" With a deep breath, Taharka removed the pendant from around his neck, that which had served to slow the creature, however little. "Place this upon the tombstone; it will further impede the… the Ark, should it somehow revive itself in the days to come."

The stone's protection had long since waned; it would be of little use against Neirin now. Still, his throat felt so bare without it.

As he turned to go, the woman, clutching the Gulug Stone, called after him, "Master! Master, what will you now? What of your plans?"

"My plans will continue." Taharka walked on, not looking back. He had a teleportation spell to draw up. "I must begin work on a new Invincible."

Let Kiera enjoy its peace behind its old walls.

For now.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next chapter should wrap up Lich and Maliris's parts in this arc, and then there may or may not be a time skip – or it may be a short chapter with _just_ Maliris and Lich (and maybe something to wrap up Jalen a little more nicely), so the time skip can come in its own chapter. Hard to say at this point; we'll see what happens next week.


	31. Farewell

**Author's Note:** This is an extremely short chapter, but I plan to have another regular-length chapter posted sometime this week. As for why this is late, I live in Missouri, and we got eighteen inches of snow last week. :C

Review replies will be posted on chapter thirty-two, as it will be a "real" chapter as opposed to an arc conclusion.

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-One: Farewell**

They watched the Invincible fall from the safety of the mountainside.

For all that it was a ship built to serve the enemy, Maliris felt a strange, deep ache as the ship vanished before her eyes. There was no way of knowing at this distance what had happened – only that the Invincible had attacked the construction site, firing at everything in sight, and then suddenly, it was gone. She stood in silence, watching the cultists in the distance, uncertain of whether she ought to feel apprehensive or relieved. Her emotions wrestled with one another, struggling to sort themselves out; was she glad to see the ship vanish? Was she pleased to see the cultists killed? Was she yet afraid of what it might mean that the ship had turned on its masters; had it turned on its masters at all? And what of Taharka? Did she hope he had died with his ship, or that he had somehow destroyed it? Both? Something else entirely?

"Best be moving." Their young guide didn't seem especially troubled either way. He jerked his chin toward the steep trail before them. "Sun's getting high. Be too hot to travel soon." And without waiting for them, he set off, picking out a path where the earth wouldn't give way beneath his feet.

Lich turned to follow him, stone-eyed and silent.

Maliris watched them go. _It'll be a long climb back._ She sighed, squaring her shoulders. There was no time to be weak, not now. There was no telling what Taharka had planned. There was no telling if or when an attack might be coming now; now that Taharka lacked both army and airship. If it bought Kiera time, so be it. If it did not... if it did not, it would be up to Neirin and his magical defenses, however effective or ineffective they may be.

With a sigh, Maliris finally began her own climb.

Just before the construction site slipped out of view, she turned to look at it one last time.

_So long, Elisi,_ she thought. _See you in the next life. You too, Jalen. _Maliris turned away, following the guide and Lich, who were both far above her by now. _Take care of her, Jalen, or you'll regret it.

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **What about the gears in the walls of Kiera? What about Neirin's army? What about Vehtra's secret plan? FIND OUT NEXT TIME, when there's a real chapter. There will also be a three-year time skip in the next chapter (which I would estimate will be posted on Thursday, maybe late on Friday if I'm lazy). Hold on to your socks, people, we're getting closer and closer to the end of this crazy ride, by which I mean we've probably got another twenty or so chapters left because I am ridiculous like that.


	32. God Touched

**Author's Note:** So when I said "late Friday night," what I actually meant, apparently, was "early Saturday morning." Either way, EARLY NEW CHAPTER.

_Chapter Thirty:_ Adaraa, I told you it'd be a new favorite! c: WiREP, keep making predictions, they make me giggle evilly. I. I mean they make me grin and cackle. I mean they make me bust out in an evil laugh. …I'm not sure I can redeem this at this point. But yeah, keep making those predictions! XitaUnlucky, I'm glad you liked the character development! Thirty was a huge chapter for character development; it was hard to write, but lots of fun when it was over. Blacktepes, it's not dead, no worries! I just get delayed sometimes, with school. JessRangel, like I said, don't feel too bad – I didn't even need to look up the summonstones. Especially not Ark's; getting it is a pain you don't forget quickly! Pip, the villain can't die this early on; it'd make the rest of the story awfully hard to write!

_Chapter Thirty-One:_ Adaraa, yep, three whole years! I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Pip, _all that in this chapter_, yep. I would actually pin the number of remaining chapters closer to ten or fifteen, but knowing me, it might very well get up to ridiculous numbers before it's all over. WiREP, again, keeeep making predictions, crazy evil laugh, etc., etc., I hope this arc ends up living up to expectations!

Off we go!

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Two: God-Touched**

_Your journey is not over. Do not fear. Step forward,_

_and you will be closer to the truth._

THREE YEARS LATER

The streets of Kiera grew more active after nightfall, and it was easy for faces to become lost in a crowd. Who would think to look twice at a slave girl moving through the market crowd; who would think to be suspicious of a girl likely out doing her master's bidding? Never mind that she was moving too quickly. Never mind that she didn't pause to look at any of the stalls. Never mind that her eyes remained locked on the cavern ahead: the entrance to the palace. When no one expected anything out of the ordinary, they saw nothing out of the ordinary, and that was much to Safira's advantage.

At thirteen years, she was at last a woman, and was free to make a woman's decisions for herself. For a year now she had fostered the magic within her, building it from a small spark into a roaring flame. She did not yet know what to do with such power, but if rumors spoke true, she didn't need to.

The god did not require skill, only power.

For three years the god had lived among them, rarely seen but often spoken of. At first, as a foolish child, Safira had questioned and doubted the tales. Some people in the city claimed he was a foreign ruler, fleeing from the death and destruction spreading across the northern continent. Safira believed them. She laughed at the claims of the other children, the street-ears who flocked to King Arros's tents. They claimed he worked magic. Safira had seen wonders worked within the Hall of the Thief King; she had seen the mages work their spells and call forth their powers to call the elements to do their bidding. She _knew_ of magic. The other children claimed he was tall and pale and beautiful, shining like a beacon in the high hot sun. Safira had seen northerners; they were all pale, they were all tall, and some were beautiful in their palid and sickly way. None of them were gods. The children said he traveled with guardians, among them the legendary Roshan, gone from Kiera long before they had been born. But Roshan was mortal, Safira had said. Roshan could serve another mortal.

The other children were foolish, she believed.

They opened their minds to faerie tales, and faerie tales alone did they hear.

Safira remembered clearly the night she had learned to have a little more respect for faerie tales.

She had seen the god for herself that night: the man calling himself the King of Terra. Arrogant and young as he seemed, he radiated power. Safira had not understood the language in which he spoke to Arros, but the meaning was clear enough. That night seemed to stretch on forever in her memory; the god holding a scrap of treasure and frowning at it, deep in thought. The room was laughing; laughing at him when they could not have performed the same miracle he eventually did: within one small bracelet, he infused more spells than any would have believed possible, creating an orb of power the likes of which had not been seen in Kiera for centuries.

And there had been more miracles ever since.

Safira had not seen them for herself, but she no longer doubted the god's power. The rumors spoke of strange floating obelisks engraved with brightly-colored runes and patterns, patrolling the balconies and corridors of the palace. They spoke of a shadowy army growing deep within the unreachable caverns only King Vehtra and the northern god knew how to reach. And they were more than rumors – the god himself sent to King Arros for mages, and when those mages returned, they spoke of being touched by the god himself: of how he drew from their power to feed his own; of how he worked his miracles through the power of others; of how he gave life to that which had never been properly born.

And now Safira was a mage in her own right, and she too would offer her services to the god in order to protect Kiera against the heretic Taharka, who even now plotted to tear down the grand golden walls that surrounded the city. In three years she had heard no news of him, but that meant little; slaves were seldom allowed to hear more than was readily given to them, and children were permitted to hear the least. Safira heard more than most; enough to know the god would accept her regardless of her status. He required mages. Whether they were Arros's mages or his more fortunately-born slaves was of no concern. And Safira was the bastard child of one of Arros's mages, and she had inherited her father's power.

The cave loomed before her, and still no one moved to stop her from entering it. Safira hesitated only once, glancing around as if even now, even at her last footstep, someone might catch her and drag her back to her master. What if she entered the palace, only to be turned away? What would her master say if he knew she had come to the palace at all?

_He would understand, _she assured herself, swallowing. _He would understand that it is my duty to offer my strength for Kiera_. And he would, she knew. The thought made her bolder; made her stand up straighter. She walked to the entrance, the inviting circle of light traced in runes. _Please accept me,_ she thought, standing in the center of the circle. For a moment, nothing happened, and Safira's heart sank. It would be such a long walk back to Arros's tent with the burden of failure weighing down on her.

And then the world dissolved into light.

"…many more of the things does he _need_?" Safira blinked at the unfamiliar voice, her stomach twisting as it tried to make sense of what had happened to her body. A short distance away, two people stood arguing; they didn't seem especially concerned about her. One of them, a tall man in dark, ill-fitting armor, continued the tirade Safira had stumbled into. "There're a good thousand or so in there, and if he keeps up this pace, he'll have another thousand by the end of the year – the city can't _hold_ that goddamn many. What's he planning to do?" He threw his hands in the air. "Hang 'em from the _walls_?"

The second stranger was an older man, lean and gaunt, looking weary and disinterested. "They aren't immortal." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "And Neirin acknowledges as much. The numbers are necessary to fill in breaks in the lines with new soldiers. You should know this."

"Choke the holes with their _corpses_!" The larger man slammed his fist into the nearest wall, and Safira jumped and yelped.

They noticed her at last, turning to stare, as if she hadn't appeared in a brilliant flash of light only moments ago.

For a moment, the three of them simply stared at one another, and Safira regretted coming more than ever before. Finally, the older man broke the silence, saying, "You're terribly young to have come on your own."

"I'm a woman grown," Safira said, somewhat more indignantly than she'd intended. "And I'm a mage. I came to offer my services as a mage."

"A _young_ mage." The larger man, half again as tall as Safira was, stepped forward to loom over her. She shrank back despite herself, and he sighed, shaking his head. He peered over his shoulder at the older man. "Well? What say you, Lich? If she's a mage, we need her."

"We are not so _desperate_ as to resort to using _children_," the old man snapped, and for the first time, Safira noticed the skulls around his neck. _The god's guardians,_ she realized, wondering. _Where is Roshan?_ Her curiosity was enough to override her frustration at being called a child yet again; she scarcely noticed.

The large man shrugged, the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his lips. "You heard the lass. She's a woman grown. If she says she's here to help Neirin, and she's a mage like she says, we need her."

"To create the army that by your counts is already too large," Lich replied wryly, folding his arms.

"Yes," the other man replied, grinning. "That one."

xxx

Kuja didn't need to tell Neirin he was pushing himself too hard, but he did it anyway, and he did it constantly. _Someone_ had to be the voice of reason, and the way Kuja saw it, that voice may as well be his own. If it made Neirin glare at him nearly-constantly, so be it; at least eventually the king went to bed that way, and even deigned to _eat_ now and then. Three years of constant effort had produced an army of reasonable size, to be fair; it very nearly filled the largest of the undeveloped cavernous rooms Neirin had discovered during his exploration of the palace. The cost of that army, though, was greater than anyone among them wanted to admit.

The mages of Kiera were a valuable resource, willing to be drained of their magic day after day, barely resting enough to replenish themselves before being drained again. In the name of saving their city, they would give anything, even if it left them too weary to carry themselves back to the room that had been set aside for all of them. There they rested, and with renewed strength, they returned, prepared to be drained yet again, over and over.

For Neirin, there was no rest.

Sometimes, Kuja knew, the king lost track of time as he worked. Days went by, and Neirin slept only when he at last collapsed from exhaustion, and Kuja had to call Tiamat to carry him to his room. When he did sleep, he was restless and eager to be up and working again, as if he feared the mass army he had created already could never be enough; _would_ never be enough.

"Taharka isn't resting," Neirin snapped, eating his dinner almost vengefully, as if he despised the necessity of every bite. "He's gathering an army and building his airships; he's not _resting_. He's scouring every miserable pile of ruins he comes to, looking for my body in case he accidentally killed me or-" He shoved his plate away. "—Or I'm hiding in the ruins or something equally ridiculous, but eventually he'll realize I must be _here_, and then when he comes there will be no stopping him-"

"And you'll be utterly useless if you're tired and starved." Kuja shoved the plate back in Neirin's direction, and the king began eating again, though he only picked at the food. _Stop being so stubborn,_ Kuja thought wearily, but bit it back. "I've been reading."

Neirin glanced up at him, one eyebrow arched. "You're _always_ reading. The rest of us are being productive, and there's our scholar with his nose in some old tome or another."

Kuja ignored him. "It's about the gears in the walls."

"You're _still_ on about that?" Neirin threw his hands up in disgust, rising from the table and pacing to the far wall, presumably so he could no longer be distracted by food. "Even Kraken doesn't care about that bit of nonsense anymore; it's been two years, and nothing's come of it-"

"Three," Kuja said quietly. "It's been _three_ years." _You should know that,_ he thought anxiously. _By the Eye, Neirin, get some damn sleep!_

Neirin waved it off. "I didn't ask." That was his excuse for everything now; everything he forgot or overlooked. "Anyhow, three years makes it worse; three years and nothing's come of it. Why are you still on about it? If it's that important, why not ask Vehtra or Arros yourself?"

_Because it's all I can do now_. Kuja looked away; three years hadn't made him any more useful to their cause than he had been as a small child. He spent his days, as Neirin said, tucked away with his books, reading while Neirin summoned up his army. He was never far away from the king; no, more often than not, he was in the great cavern with Neirin and the other mages, reading by a magefire candle. Useless though he was, there was something to be said of habit, and it was Kuja's habit to be somewhere near Neirin at all times.

Age made it worse. Kuja wore his age poorly; his skin was ill-fitting and his body felt too long and gangly. He was no longer a small child, to easily lurk in places where he was out of the way; in three years he had changed, and he no longer felt like himself, and he disliked the changes. It seemed he was angry nearly all of the time, yet there was never a good way to dispel that anger and never any good reason to _be_ angry; he was simply _angry_, as if there was a source of frustration he couldn't identify, and it was _everywhere_, always. At times he wanted to walk the streets of Kiera, or perhaps approach Tiamat about teaching him to use a proper weapon now that he was getting older, or yes, perhaps even ask Vehtra about those damnable gears in the walls, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Neirin's side; none of the other guardians cared enough, he felt, to make sure Neirin ate or slept while he was summoning up this army.

His silence settled heavily between them, and after a moment Neirin sighed, shifting uncomfortably to his other foot. "Well. You've been reading."

"It's what I do." The words were harsher than he'd intended, but Kuja let them stand. "The gears are part of an old defense mechanism. They work with the cells in the dungeon somehow, and there was something about an hourglass, but the old designs I found were in poor shape, and they were difficult to read. They said something about the cells being connected to the desert outside of the city, but exactly what that connection might be, I have no idea."

Neirin nodded. "I'd wondered about that dungeon." It was worth wondering about; the palace stood over raw molten rock, and the cells in the dungeon, already miserably hot, opened up to drop their unfortunate contents into the hellish inferno below. It was a poor death, but an effective one. Three years had thus far seen the dungeons unused, and Kuja rather liked it that way.

After a moment, Neirin asked, "Did you learn anything else?"

"No." Kuja sighed. "It's a remarkably well-guarded secret. I've read every book in that library."

"_That_ I'm willing to believe," Neirin said, grinning, and for a moment, he didn't look as if he hadn't slept in three days. The anxiety that gripped Kuja's heart eased slightly, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief when the king stalked back to the table and resumed his meal. Small miracles, to be sure, but he would accept them where he found them.

xxx

Safira followed the two men in silence, though they bickered the entire time. She felt so terribly insignificant. They hadn't bothered to ask her name; she didn't know why, but she rather felt that was important somehow. She felt drab against the shining beauty of the palace: she was short for her age, her hair was short and a dull shade of auburn, her grey eyes weren't quite mysterious enough to be pretty, and her skin was a dull shade of wet-sand brown, but worst of all, her clothes were threadbare and stained tan by the sand; she was not the sort of creature who ought to parade through the Desert Palace, following the guardians of a god.

_He won't accept me,_ she thought miserably, now knowing it to be true. _He'll take one look and turn me away._

The larger man, whom she now knew to be Tiamat, turned to spare her a glance as they walked. "You're a quiet one," he pointed out. "Normally by now your kind are tripping over themselves to tell us how _honored_ you are, you know, how _blessed_ you are to be here." He rolled his eyes. "Ridiculous lot, mages. It's no blessing, being drained day in and day out."

Safira swallowed, wringing her hands. "But- but it _is_ an honor to be here," she insisted, and Tiamat laughed.

"See what I mean? Ridiculous. All of you."

Lich sighed and said nothing, but Tiamat pressed on, "We wouldn't even know about this if Neirin didn't do it on accident one day. And the poor mage!" He laughed uproariously, slapping his hands together. "I doubt she knew what happened. She was standing too close, and Neirin caught her."

"Miracles happen because circumstances allow them to," Safira offered piously.

Tiamat shook his head. "Miracles happen because Neirin's damnably lucky."

"Luck is an odd way to put it." From a nearby room, a woman's voice broke into the conversation, and seconds later, a figure from Kiera's legends stepped out to greet them. Safira caught her breath, and a tremor went through her from scalp to sole, and she had to grab onto Tiamat's arm to keep herself from collapsing. From the way he reacted, she imagined it wasn't an uncommon reaction to the legendary Roshan, long-lost heir to the Throne of the Thief King, Arros's trueborn daughter and only rightful successor, expert swordswoman, and guardian to a god. Roshan stood tall and lean and strong, the serpent on her cheek slashed by old scars but grinning as she smirked at Tiamat, the swords she had wielded since before she fled from Kiera at her hips.

_I have entered a legend!_

Roshan's eyes flickered at her for a moment, then returned and settled at last, then narrowed. "A slave girl," she muttered, and Safira swallowed hard. At last: someone who would recognize her for what she was, and turn her away. "Does your master know you're here, girl?"

"No, Mistress Roshan," Safira replied instinctively, bowing her head respectfully.

A heavy sigh. "We can't accept her; it would be stealing-"

"And Vehtra can overrule that." Without intending to, Safira looked up at the new voice; it was a boy, a boy perhaps her age, or a bit older. He was nearly as tall as Roshan, not quite, and he didn't appear the slightest bit daunted by her, though even the other two men had given each other doubtful glances upon realizing Safira was, by all rights, stolen property. "Besides," he added, "She wouldn't be staying here forever, only until the army is finished, at which point she, like the others, will go home." He glanced at Safira, and the hair on the back of her neck rose, though she couldn't say why. "If she wants to leave earlier, of course, she can."

Roshan was silent for a moment, but slowly, _very_ slowly, she relented. Not that Safira noticed; she was staring wide-eyed at the boy, who had long since looked away from her.

"Fair enough." Roshan sighed, shrugging at Tiamat and Lich. "Well, then, take her to Neirin, and I swear if we catch hell for this, I'm blaming _you,_" she snapped, glaring at the boy, who completely (and astonishingly) ignored her, turning his attention to the two men.

"Neirin is asleep." The boy jerked his head back toward the room he had emerged from. "Or he was pretending to be to get me out of his hair, one of the two. Maybe you should introduce her to the other mages first; let her get settled in." And then he was gone, brushing past them and down the hall, never pausing to look back.

Safira stared after him, willing herself to stop trembling. "That boy," she breathed. "He- he's been touched by the very gods - by the All-Seeing Eye itself!"

Lich gave a small bark of laughter. "Funny," he said. "I've been saying that for years now."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yay another character who will die in some horrible fashion or another! This is probably the only time she'll be a point of view character for a while, though.


	33. Dragons and Gods

**Author's Note:** So, somehow I ended up in a play. That play lasted for the past few weeks, and most of my days were spent in a haze of classes, rehearsals, and _oh my god please let me sleep_. Now I'm on spring break, yay, so you all get a new chapter, finally!

Clement Rage, here's hoping Safira turns out okay – I tend to be predisposed against slave girls, too. Also, the answer is no, because Neirin is Neirin, and testing is for people who think things through. Pip, I'm glad it was a good birthday present! c: I know it's been a few weeks, but hopefully you had a great birthday. Adaraa, I'm glad you like Safira! And yeah, 13-year-old Kuja is a ton of fun to write: he's at that age where the world just doesn't understand and is terrible – and unfortunately, the world he actually lives in is pretty terrible and no one around him understands him… except for Neirin and that is _infuriating_ for reasons he can't fully articulate. Sweden (_you changed your name_, what) and JessRangel, keep making predictions; they make me all giddy with giggly glee, especially when I know I can still keep you guessing. Lady Kadaj, welcome to the fic, and thanks for staying up late to catch up! As I just said, I love predictions and guesses, so have at it! And yay, someone actually reads the trivia page! Venyx, also welcome to the fic! Flattery will get you everywhere with me, and in this case, it gets you… a new chapter!  
Let's get on with it! (Special review mention to Lucrecia LeVrai, who is not yet _to_ this chapter as of her last review, but the two essay-length reviews deserve some thanks.)

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Dragons and Gods**

In the hours just before sunset, three dragons landed on the coast of the desert continent. Of the three, only one bore a rider – the other two flew on leads crafted of light but strong chains, secured with strong cuffs around the throats and forelegs of the beasts. The lone rider was taking no chances that the two might escape; not after he'd gone through hell just to _find_ the things. His own mount, a foul-tempered pale blue dragon, roared irately at the other two; on more than one occasion, the twin bastards had nearly pulled them off course. The other two, who were no less pleased by their circumstances, roared back, scraping at the ground with their great silvery claws.

"Oh, stuff it," the man snapped, rummaging in his saddlebags for what remained of the dragons' food. The live birds that the two "guests" favored had long since died – snapped necks and suffocation, mostly, though the man suspected he'd probably kicked a few of them to death along the way. He was uncomfortable in the harness and often moved too much. If the saddlebags and their precious cargo got in his way, that was just too goddamn bad. He pulled out a limp bird that was nearly as long as his forearm, tugged away the band that uselessly secured their wings, and tossed the bird toward one of the dragons. The hungry beast devoured it quickly, feathers and all. The man, whose food had run out only hours ago, grumbled jealously as he fed the other two dragons.

With the beasts fed, there was nothing to do but wait for the sun to go down.

In his year spent scouting around the "mother" continent, the man hadn't had time to do much in the way of waiting or thinking, and now that he finally did, he found he wished he didn't. When he closed his eyes, he saw the barren, scoured landscape of the north, with its poisonous and warped creatures. The few people he had encountered, even those who carried Taharka's beliefs, were hollow-eyed and lifeless; none seemed especially interested to know what business a Kieran had in the north. He had seen the burned husks of ancient cities that had survived countless cycles. In only a few short years, the thriving mother continent had been reduced to rubble and ruin, and Taharka alone had conducted the destruction.

The scout rubbed his tired eyes, praying the flight home would be swift and uneventful. He was in dire need of sleep… but first, there was a foreign king he supposed he had to report to, not to mention his own kings. And first and foremost, he had to fly three dragons along a route unfamiliar to two of them, and manage – somehow – to keep them from getting lost or starving to death. They were entirely too valuable to be lost to the desert.

xxx

In the three years he'd spent coming to and from the "summoning chamber," Kuja had never grown accustomed to it. Perhaps he simply had trouble transitioning from the absurdly bright palace to the dark, incomprehensibly enormous rough-cut chamber. That the chamber had no visible entrance or exit did nothing to raise his opinion of it. Still, never once had Neirin and his flock of sacrificial mages gone to the summoning chamber without him tagging along.

And never once had the sight of several thousand shadow soldiers failed to make his breath catch in his throat.

They were as tall as any man, these soldiers, and dressed like the war-mages from the history books Kuja had shared, however briefly, with Neirin: garments of pale silvery-blue (even down to their pointed hats), with intricate patterns of silver traced upon their jackets. Their costumes were silly, and the silliness served no purpose, but it was Neirin's personal touch – and god forbid anyone should try to tell Neirin not to add his own personal touches.

What unsettled Kuja the most, though, was the soldiers themselves. They were faceless, save for two glowing yellow eyes set deep within a mass of shadows. Occasionally Kuja thought he saw a face, a real _face_ beneath the wide brim of a soldier's pointed hat, but if he dared to look closer, the face was gone, and only featureless darkness gazed out at him, unconcerned and unfeeling. Neirin claimed that because they were mere constructs, they had no souls, and therefore no thoughts or emotions of their own; Kuja wasn't entirely willing to trust him. Too many of those yellow eyes seemed too intelligent; too many times Kuja was sure he'd seen the creatures move of their own volition. Constructs they may be, but Kuja had spent enough time with Neirin to know that the king's judgment was prone to being flawed at best, and dead wrong at worst.

"How many more of these do we need?" Kuja asked, settling himself down into his usual alcove. He eyed the soldiers, who stared placidly ahead. "I think they outnumber the Kieran army at this point."

"Almost definitely," Neirin replied airily, but offered no further answers or explanations.

Kuja sighed, and turned his attention to the book in his lap. He'd read it several times already, though, and the words failed to hold his attention for long – as usual, he found himself watching Neirin.

It seemed like a simple enough process. Neirin focused. A mage dropped. A soldier appeared, wispy at first, then steadily more and more concentrated, like a gathering fog. By that time another soldier had appeared. Then another. And another and another, until no mages remained, and Neirin had to draw on what remained of his own strength. Sometimes that alone was enough for three or four or even five soldiers. Often it was only enough for one. Sometimes it wasn't enough even for that.

There _had_ to be an easier way. Given all the time in the world, Kuja was sure he could have come up with a faster, more efficient way to produce the soldiers without requiring so much power, but they had no time for the theories and experiments of a thirteen-year-old boy, and this method had already proven to be remarkably prolific. Kuja just wished it didn't leave Neirin half-dead after a day's work – the mages could be cycled and allowed to rest, but Neirin had no such luxury.

Kuja's gaze slid to the gathered mages, half of whom were unconscious. Among those still standing was the girl he'd vouched for earlier; she was staring at Neirin with rapt attention, adoration, and what looked a bit like anxiety – she'd watched several of her fellows collapse seemingly without reason, after all, and surely she knew she would be drained soon, as well. _Look what you got her into,_ he scolded himself, trying to focus on his book again, despite the gnawing guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He made a note to be sure to meet with her at some point, to apologize for dragging her into this mess. He owed her that much, at least.

xxx

It was nearly nightfall again when the scout made landfall outside of the grand walls of Kiera. He said a blessing to the All-Seeing Eye, grateful that the city was still standing, before calling out a greeting to the night watchmen. The grand gates opened, and the scout led his own dragon in to the stables, dragging behind it two fussy, irate silver dragons.

"Tell the kings I've returned," he ordered, sending a stablehand scrambling toward the palace, while another headed off to the Thief King's tents. The scout watched them go, grinning – he wasn't likely to have _that_ kind of power again for a long while to come.

Another stablehand unharnessed the blue dragon, and moved to unchain the twins. "Leave those," the scout barked, jerking his head toward the nearest support beam. "Secure 'em over there, but leave the chains. We don't want these two flyin' off, see." He wasn't about to _tell_ the boy how much the two were worth, nor that for all the trouble he'd gone through to catch a matched pair, he wasn't likely to see a penny of their worth. Still, he'd done his duty, and come out of it with information and a pair of dragons thought to have gone extinct – not a bad year's work, all told.

xxx

"I don't see _why_ we have to meet him at the _stables,_" Neirin repeated, trailing behind Vehtra. "It's not so far from the palace, and I'm _exhausted_." It wasn't exactly a _lie_, but as Vehtra saw it, if an old king could walk the short distance between the palace and the city stable, so too could a young one – magical energy-draining army be damned. Moreover, the two of them went completely alone and unarmed, a prospect which alarmed Neirin more than he dared to admit.

"Poor bastard's traveled all across your continent and back," Vehtra replied, grinning toothlessly over his shoulder. "You'd have him walk more? Feh. He might have news about Taharka." His grin faded. "I mislike going three years with no moves from my enemy." He spat on the hot dusty street. "It means he's up to something, the snake."

Neirin nodded, though hesitantly. "Yes. But what? Creating another airship?"

"If we're lucky." Vehtra shook his head. "Or perhaps he's found his Garland. It's quiet on the other side of the mountains, too. They've abandoned work on Oeilvert." In the fading light, the frown lines in Vehtra's aged face looked deep and almost painful, as if someone had gouged them out with rough tools. It was no surprise; they'd all done their fair share of worrying over the past few years. Vehtra sighed. "We sent men in to investigate, but the doors are tightly sealed. There's no way of knowing what they made there."

"Or why." Neirin's face remained carefully neutral; he didn't want to betray the fact that he hadn't known Oeilvert had been abandoned – that seemed terribly important somehow, though he couldn't put a finger on _why_; he would have to ask Kuja later. Kuja always seemed to be able to grasp these things. "And this… _scout_ of yours-"

"I sent him north for two reasons." Vehtra held up one thin, bony finger. "First, to gather information. Any information. Survivors, Taharka's plots, anything." He held up another finger. "Second, to find dragons."

_That_ caught Neirin's attention.

"Dragons?" He walked faster, falling into step with Vehtra at last. "Why dragons?"

The old man smiled, steepling his fingers as he walked. "I have my reasons. I told him to see about finding a breeding pair, though, so pretty soon the stable ought to be filled with the sounds of little claws, eh?"

And Neirin, delighted by the mere _thought_ of dragons, was blissfully quiet for the rest of the walk, and was content to let Vehtra smile his infuriatingly mysterious smile; whatever the old bastard had in mind, it involved _dragons_.

During the early months of their stay in Kiera, Neirin had managed to pay a visit to the stables at least once every week. They were filthy, of course, and they were nowhere near the well-kept, beautiful stables he had been accustomed to at his own castle, but Traje seemed so far away now – had he ever _really_ been a spoiled prince in an elegant and shining castle, or was that just a dream? Regardless, the stables and their dirt didn't trouble him the way he had expected them to, and he tried to check in on the two dragons they had arrived on from time to time, but time passed and eventually the work of creating the shadow army had taken over much of his life. He didn't know what had become of their dragons, and truthfully, he was quite content to keep it that way; they were ill-suited to the desert.

It felt odd to be walking there again, after nearly three years. Neirin found he _missed_ this walk – or rather, he missed simply getting out of the palace. Perhaps next time, if there _was_ a next time, he would invite Kuja.

As if reading his mind, Vehtra glanced at him curiously. "Where is your scholarly shadow?" He looked around, as if expecting Kuja to come hurrying after them at any moment.

"He said he had something important to do," Neirin replied. "I expect he just didn't want to be around the stables. He can't stand dragons." After a moment, he laughed. "Brave little bastard, and he's afraid of _heights_, of all things!"

xxx

_Just make it quick_. Kuja slipped into the mages' quarters, weaving his way through the many makeshift beds that littered the floor. The always-inconsistent number of mages made it difficult to have an always-consistent number of beds available for resting, and the result was a room that was filled, wall to wall, with various piles of pillows, blankets, and half-stuffed mattresses. But for most, this was only a temporary resting-place; many could go home to fully recover their strength, and needed this room only for the initial period, during which they were completely unconscious. They would awaken, stagger to their feet, and make their way home, only to return again when they felt well and strong enough.

Others had nowhere else to go.

He saw her from across the room; she was one of the few people sitting up, eating a bowl of whatever was intended for that night's dinner. Kuja made his way through the room, carefully stepping over the occupied piles of blankets, and sat down on the pile of blankets beside hers. For a few moments, she didn't seem to notice him. Then, slowly, she turned to look at him, and her eyes widened as if he were some kind of magnificent abomination that her mind was struggling to comprehend. For the space of a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the girl yelped, and set her food aside. Then, as Kuja watched in horrified fascination, she scooted herself into an awkward groveling bow. "My lord, I am unworthy of such a visit-"

"Stop that." Kuja cut her off. "Sit up." When she did so, he placed the bowl of food back in her lap. She stared down at it. "Go on, keep eating." She did. Kuja sighed. "I wanted to apologize. I never should have dragged you into this; you might get in trouble with your master, and I know you must have been terrified earlier, during the ritual." He shook his head, uncertain how to put it into words. "A lot of mages go home after their first ritual with Neirin, and never come back. You…. you don't really have the option to come and go as you please, but I wanted to make it clear to you that you don't have to go through with another ritual. You can leave if you want." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for getting you involved."

There. He said it.

She was quiet for quite a while longer, and Kuja wondered if he ought to just stand and leave. After all, he had no reason to stay. He'd said his piece, he'd given her his apology; what did he expect in return? Finally, when it seemed obvious she wasn't _going_ to say anything, Kuja simply nodded, rose to his feet, and turned to leave; Neirin would be back soon.

"It was incredible, though," she said quietly. Kuja glanced back at her, curious. She looked up at him with shining dark grey eyes. "The god touched my soul and found it worthy; he drew strength from me-"

"Don't be stupid." It came out harsh, much harsher than he'd intended, but once sprung, the flood would not be contained. "Neirin isn't a _god_, and maybe if all of you realized that, he'd see it, too. He's just a mortal – a stupid, careless, reckless mortal with no concept at all of his own mortality. He doesn't _sleep_, he doesn't _eat_, he doesn't even know we've been here for _three goddamn years_, and at this rate, he'll kill _himself_ before Taharka gets to him!" He rounded on her, and she flinched. Kuja glared at her for a moment, trembling with unrepressed anger, before it slowly began to seep out of him. He sighed, running a hand through his silvery hair.

"He isn't a god," he repeated quietly, almost gently. "None of us are gods. He's drawing power from other mages because he doesn't have the strength to do it all himself, not because he's _testing your soul_. I don't even know if there _are_ gods anymore."

And with that, he left.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next time, _what has Taharka been up to_. The answer is, of course, no good.

**Review Questions Answered:  
**

- Jalen's Age: 22 at his first appearance, 24 at the time of his death. And yeah, Elisi was sixteen, but the only other women around were Kraken and Maliris, and begging womanizers can't be choosers.  
- Sonia's Soul: Nope, not Bellanna. It can be safely assumed she's one of Neirin's many nameless ancestors, though.  
- Neirin's Name: "NI-rin," in my head, but you can pronounce it however you please, in whatever way makes the most sense to you. c:


	34. The Missing Piece

**Author's Note:** Not dead. Would like to be. Life sucks. Thank you for reviews, author alerts, favorites, stalking! Enjoy very short chapter!

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Four: The Missing Piece**

A beast with the body of a horse and the wings of a bat picked its way through the ruins of Traje. It took care to avoid the areas most prone to malboro infestation – an easy task, as the amdusias was a beast best suited to navigating by scent, and the malboros were nothing if not easy to smell. The city itself was silent, except for where the wind whistled through the empty, burned-out buildings, a sound that had long since failed to startle the hunting amdusias. For a short while after the city was burned, the amdusias had hunted _living_prey: cultists, mostly, prowling the city in search of something, someone. Their purpose for being there made no difference to the amdusias or the other beasts with whom it shared the region; with fewer humans around, the city was left unguarded, and the cultists weren't anticipating an ambush.

For a short while, the amdusias and its herd had eaten well.

Then the water went bad, the cultists fled, the land became barren. Other cities burned. The amdusias and its herd were left with only ashes to soothe their hunger. A few had foolishly attempted to hunt the malboro packs thriving in the poisoned landscape, but that which thrives on poison is often poisonous itself, and those who ate the malboros soon fell ill.

Now the amdusias nosed at bones that had long since been picked clean of all meat, and snarled. There was no food to be found in Traje; no food to be found for miles. The last of its herd-members had died in the night, and there was no meat worth eating to be found on _that_ corpse. The amdusias raised its head, caught the scent of an approaching malboro, and knew it had to be on the move again, and soon – but on the move to where? Where would it find a new herd? Where would it find more food?

An enormous shadow passed overhead, and the amdusias looked up and snarled once more, cowering into the rubble to wait while the floating castle, the relic the humans once called "Pandemonium," passed overhead.

xxx

Everything was moving too quickly.

The decay of Terra was happening far more quickly than Taharka had anticipated, and time itself had become his most dire foe – every day Terra crept closer and closer to her end, and he was no closer to accomplishing his goals now than he had been five years ago. Nothing had gone according to plan.

Taharka stood in his newly-completed observatory, gazing upward into the heart of Terra. _Nothing had gone according to plan_. The Genomes, built too soon, had died before they could live. The process of poisoning Terra had gone as planned, at first, but then it had spiraled out of control; the infestation of the malboros had hastened the process more than Taharka could have possibly anticipated. Now even his own followers were dying by the hundreds – those who had fled the mother continent seemed to be surviving, but they could not be said to be _living_, not in truth. The outer continents were barren, and the native tribes who inhabited them did not take kindly to the invading cultists. Some days his followers were able to beat back the natives and find something to eat. Most days they were not.

Those who had stayed behind on the mother continent were worse.

Worse than the pitiful state of of his followers, though - his plans for Oeilvert had fallen apart with the Invincible. _Ark_. Taharka trembled with rage at the mere _thought_ of Ark. He had begun work on a new Invincible, of course, but his heart was not in it, not as it had been before. What could he do _now_ that he had not yet done before? Upon becoming one with the ship, the soul he had used had somehow… _changed_; it had become something completely different, something unrelated to the soul it had once been. If he manipulated the soul first, what then? What would have become of the Invincible? Would it have been more obedient, or would it still have rebelled, driven mad by the taste of power? Perhaps that was the flaw. Perhaps allowing the ship the ability to _think _had been his mistake. But to interact with the cycle of souls, the ship itself must be in possession of a soul. And where in the world would Taharka find another soul with the correct properties?

The most important soul of all had yet to be found, as well. Years had passed – _years_! – and there had been no word, no sign of Neirin. Taharka suspected the prince was dead. Perhaps he had been dead for years; perhaps he had died in one of the cities Taharka's men had burned to the ground; perhaps he had starved to death in some alley or field; perhaps a beast had killed him. Jalen had turned up at Oeilvert, of all places, with no sign of the prince to be seen and no reason to believe the tracker hadn't given up the chase. He'd been with that woman, after all. Jalen was the type to stray for a pretty face, after all, and the rest of his men had turned up dead in Astrula _years_ ago. There was no way of knowing what had happened between then and now. A pity Jalen wasn't around to ask.

Taharka turned his back on the observatory, striding out among the ancient gears and wires that fed it. The light at Terra's core was fading rapidly. When he chose to look, Taharka saw the reverse was true of Gaia, the young world he had chosen for the assimilation. Already life was spreading on Gaia; if things took much longer, it was likely Gaia would develop its own cycle of souls, and then…

…then, there was no telling what might become of the assimilation.

_But without Garland, there can be no assimilation_. Otherwise, there could be no Genomes, and the process would simply repeat as it always had, a process of futility without end. Without Garland to oversee the assimilation… without the Genomes to accept the souls of Terra… without all of the pieces of the puzzle, the entire plan would fall apart, and there would be no one left to remember it; no one left to carry on Taharka's work. The key to it all was Garland. The ship could be built later. The Genomes could be built later. Terra herself could be restored later. Garland was all that was needed. And without Neirin, there could be no Garland.

What could be done if Neirin was dead? Taharka supposed there were other possibilities to be found, somewhere. There were souls for the taking in the cycle of souls, after all, and it would be easy enough to find one of the First Souls among the throng. But what of the body? An artificial body would never do.

The thought struck him as solidly as lightning, and he froze in his tracks.

Could a soul be forced from a body – a _true_ body, not a Genome – and replaced with a more effective one? Taharka's heart pounded. But what of the incident with Sonia? A First Soul was not easily manipulated; not easily forced into place. A First Soul could be fragmented as no other soul could, and leave the victim utterly mad at best, dead at worst.

This called for experimentation.

Taharka summoned his followers.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, this is a ridiculously, stupidly, absurdly short chapter that in no way makes up for the ungodly long wait I made you all suffer through. However! Expect another chapter (the "other half" of this one, actually) up by Friday. I'm still getting back in the groove of writing, and this was all my muse was able to crank out of me last week. After this week, though, I should get back into the swing of regular updates! Again, I'm really sorry for the lack of updates. This summer has been completely hellish in pretty much every possible way, but things should start getting better now. Knock on wood.

...Also, guess what, I have a fic recommendation on TV Tropes! Thank you, Chaotic Brain (and whoever posted a link to this fic on the FFIX "Just Bugs Me" page, you too)!


	35. Respite

**Author's Note:** It is not Tuesday. I no longer control when my muse decides to cooperate. Help.

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Respite**

Kuja left the mages' quarters in a foul mood; _that_ conversation certainly hadn't gone the way he'd expected. Why were they _all _like that? Blind, god-struck half-wits with no concept whatsoever of the reality of the situation, quick to assume Neirin was their savior, there to answer all of their prayers… it was as if the entire city of Kiera had, somehow, forgotten that _Neirin _was the fugitive. Only three years ago, they'd been escorted into the city as foreign oddities, their presence permitted largely because Maliris was practically royalty within the city, herself.

Had they all forgotten how they'd _laughed_ at Neirin in Arros's hall?

Had they forgotten watching Neirin collapse time and time again?

Now he was a god. A miracle worker.

Kuja wasn't sure why the thought enraged him so badly, but it left him with the strong urge to shatter every pane of stained glass in the palace, just for the sake of damaging _something_ in this thrice-damned city. Barring Vehtra, who at the very least seemed to have plans, all of Kiera seemed to be full of idiots. Idiots waiting for some kind of miracle to save them from Taharka and the end of the world.

"You look mad enough to kill someone." Tiamat's voice startled him nearly enough to shake him out of his rage. The guardian was lounging near the top of a stairwell, idly sharpening a sword. Not _his_ sword, Kuja realized; _his _sword likely hadn't needed sharpening at all in the past three years. The only thing Neirin needed to be protected from, at this point, was his own stubbornness.

Kuja cleared his throat. "A few mages, maybe."

Tiamat snorted. "The girl?" He grinned, tucking the sword back into its sheath and setting it aside. "You're old enough to start noticin' girls your own age, I guess. Just remember she's on loan."

"_What_?! Not- _no_!" Horrified, Kuja shook his head furiously. Why was _that _the first thing that came to the guardian's mind? "No, I just… they're all so-" This wasn't going well at all. His face felt hot; was he blushing? Dammit. He took a deep breath, composing himself. "They think he's a god. They think he can do anything."

The smile slipped from Tiamat's lips. "Times like these, everyone wants a miracle." He sighed. "You ask me, I think the fact Kiera's even still standing is a miracle all on its own. How many other cities are still standing in the world? If he could knock down those walls, we'd've been dead years ago."

A moment passed before the guardian glanced up again. "How about you?" he asked. "Do you believe in miracles?"

Kuja shook his head, heading down the stairs. He needed to visit the library. He needed some kind of peace, even if there was none to be found, until Neirin returned from his excursion into town.

_Did_ he believe in miracles?

No. Not for quite some time now.

xxx

"The world's in pretty poor shape," the scout was explaining, stretched out on a bench outside the stables. Though Vehtra would have much preferred to walk back to the palace for additional privacy and comfort, Neirin's attention had been immediately seized by the silver dragons chained nearby. "I didn't find any surviving cities of any size on the northern continent. Most of the ruins have been infested with monsters of a nasty sort. Malboros," the scout added, grimacing with disgust. "Still, it hasn't halted Taharka's little gardening project-"

"Gardening project?" Neirin glanced over from the dragons, his gaze quickly flicking toward Vehtra – was this something else they hadn't bothered telling him? He was growing weary of being kept out of the loop like this.

But Vehtra looked just as confused. "Elaborate."

"Is this new?" The scout's confidence wavered. He glanced between the two of them nervously, then swallowed. "It's… it's a tree, I think. Growing on an island just off the northern coast of the continent." He looked first at Vehtra, then at Neirin. "It's a large tree. I was sure you would already know of it. Surely it must have taken more than three years to grow to such a size."

_A tree?_ Neirin frowned, trying to remember. Had he heard anything about a tree in their travels…? It was difficult to remember; his memory was hazy at best these days. _Would Kuja remember that sort of thing? _Surely if a tree had played some part in their journey, Kuja would remember. _But why would a tree even be relevant?_ He stroked the feathered crest of the male silver dragon, trying to think, succeeding only in frustrating himself. There were so many things happening outside the walls of Kiera, and no one seemed interested in telling _him _anything about it, so long as he continued creating magical defense systems powered by the city's own life force.

A tree. Why would Taharka be bothering with a tree?

"Are you sure it's Taharka's doing?" he asked, and the scout shrugged.

"It's the only thing on or around the continent that isn't dead. It seemed like the logical conclusion."

"Why a _tree_?" Neirin mused, looking at Vehtra, who simply shrugged. If no one could think of a decent reason to be concerned, then… "Never mind that; a tree can't be much of a threat." _Hopefully._ "What else did you find out?"

The scout took a moment to recollect his thoughts. "It's been surprisingly quiet. There are signs Taharka has started working on a new airship, but has made little progress. He scarcely leaves Pandemonium. He sends out scouts to other continents, but _they_haven't made much progress." He shrugged. "All in all, it seems Taharka's plans have stalled. The failure of the Invincible at Oeilvert was a major blow, and he hasn't quite recovered yet."

Neirin allowed himself a sigh of relief, resting his forehead against the dragon's neck. If Taharka's plans had hit a snag, perhaps it was time _he_ had some rest, at least for a few days. How good would it feel just to _sleep_ again, without the driving urge to rise and make more soldiers, just in case Taharka attacked _today_, just in case the army he'd already built wasn't enough… and perhaps he could have a real conversation with Kuja again, instead of an argument over how badly he was exerting himself. How long had it been since the boy had last relaxed, himself? There were few demands on him, to be sure, but that didn't stop him from always being present during Neirin's rituals; even his appointed guardians weren't half so diligent.

Vehtra, on the other hand, was not to be so easily calmed. "And our continent? What did you see of it?" His question didn't stir Neirin at all; the younger king simply remained kneeling with his face tucked against the dragon's neck.

"We've fared far better." The scout smiled proudly. "The outposts have mostly survived. The only one that shows any sign of distress is Iksandr, and they've mostly responded by expanding their hold below-ground. The others remain mostly untouched, though they've been preparing for an attack as well as can be expected. We've had no difficulty dealing with Taharka's little pests."

"Because Kiera would have to fall first." Neirin looked up at last, looking around at the high, solid walls. "If Kiera falls, the outposts won't be far behind, but so long as Kiera stands, there's no point in destroying the outposts."

"Then I suppose we'd best concentrate on keeping Kiera standing," Vehtra said, a wry smile tugging at his lips, as if he knew Neirin had, however briefly, been considering giving himself a brief respite. Neirin drew himself back up to his feet; it was time to return to the palace. It was time to get back to work. Snag in Taharka's plans or no, the army wouldn't build itself.

xxx

"A… tree?" Kuja stared up at the king a moment, uncertain of whether or not he'd heard correctly. "A _tree_? Did you say a _tree_?"

"That's what the scout says." Neirin sat on the second level of the library, letting his legs dangle over the edge. "A giant tree of some sort. You don't recall hearing anything about it, either, then? I thought perhaps…" _My memory was fading faster than I knew_, he didn't say. "I thought perhaps you'd overheard something I missed." That the boy seemed just as bewildered by this news as he was came as no small relief.

Kuja frowned, shaking his head. "No. Nothing about a tree. It makes no sense." He shoved the book he'd been reading back onto the shelf. "He wants to kill off all life on Terra. Why stop to grow a tree?"

"And apparently it's been growing for quite some time. The scout claims it's very large." The king watched as Kuja skimmed the shelves, looking for something on trees, perhaps. "Perhaps it was growing even before he attacked Traje, if indeed it _is _Taharka's doing at all."

"We have no real reason to suspect it _is _his doing, from the sound of things." Kuja climbed to the second level, activating the switch to lower the highest level of shelves. The library was entirely too complicated for something so simple, but he'd grown used to its oddities. "It may be just a normal tree that survived simply because it's on an island, away from the pollution…" He paused, then turned toward Neirin, eyes narrowing. "Unless you know something you aren't telling me about this."

"Nothing." Neirin sighed, leaning back against the shelf. "If I _knew_, I wouldn't have troubled myself with asking _you_, would I? No, there's no real reason to suspect Taharka's involvement in this." He hesitated, then added, "But I can't shake the feeling."

Kuja gave up his futile search (there were no useful books on trees of any sort in this library; the desert was hardly a place where trees turned up frequently), and sat beside the king on the ledge. "I guess it's better to assume he has something planned than to be surprised."

_I just wish I knew what to suspect_, Kuja thought, trying to consider the possibilities. But where to begin? What was a tree good for? Shelter? Taharka had the whole of Pandemonium to himself; his cult hardly needed shelter. Burning wood? There was no shortage of wood to be found throughout the mother continent. What else could a tree _do_, though? _Maybe it's just meant to distract us_, he considered, then immediately rejected the idea; if they were meant to be distracted by it, surely more of an effort would have been made to draw their attention to it sooner. But then _what_…?

"That's enough of a break, I suppose," Neirin said suddenly, sliding down to the bottom level, not bothering with the ladder. "Back to building an army." And just like that, he was gone, off to drain more mages and create more shadow soldiers.

Kuja watched him go, suddenly wondering if this whole "tree" fiasco had, after all, just been a ploy to distract _him_ from his own uselessness.

It had worked.

He went back to the shelves, determined to find _something_ relevant about this damned tree.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm really hoping to write more this week, but we've learned how my "I'M GOING TO WRITE" promises work out. Here's hoping. Also, I have a Tumblr now (my account name is sezja); feel free to follow me. Mostly I talk about cats.


	36. Tree of Life

**Author's Note:** Look, it's a new chapter ON TIME for the first time in a year! Yaaay!

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Tree of Life**

He threw himself into his studies with a fervor he hadn't felt in quite some time. It was good to have a focus again, however vague that focus was (_look for big trees_ was as good a starting point as any), and it kept him from worrying about Neirin. Kuja spent much of his time in the library over the next few days, wishing Vehtra had a better selection of books from outside of the Erras continent. There were plenty of history books, but Kuja had already _read_ most of those over the past three years; none of them mentioned huge trees. The books on magic he had already studied from cover to cover in his determination to help Neirin fortify Kiera; _that_ was a dead end. He'd largely ignored the books on nature until now, but even then, most of them merely documented the beasts found in the desert, plants that could be eaten for their water, places to find oases…

It seemed futile.

_Maybe it's useless even to search, _he thought, lying awake in bed one night. Sleep came hard these days, when it seemed there were a million things he should be doing. Taharka had slowed. Shouldn't that mean everyone else should be doing everything they could to counter him before he gained momentum again? Neirin was still creating his shadow army, but at nowhere near the rate he'd been producing them before. Vehtra and Arros seemed unconcerned with fortifying the city for an attack; apparently they expected the walls to be enough of a defense. The guardians were spending their days lazing about; Kuja couldn't remember the last time he'd seen any of them sparring to keep their skills sharp.

He rolled onto his side, but promptly turned back over again, restless. There was so much to be done, and nothing for him to do. This _tree_of Taharka's was the first task he'd been given in what seemed like an eternity, and if his current progress was to be trusted, he was probably going to fail miserably. Maybe the damn tree didn't even mean anything. Maybe it was just one of Taharka's experiments, unrelated to his plans for Neirin. Maybe it was just a lucky tree that had survived the destruction of the mother continent. Maybe this was all lunacy.

_Dammit_. Kuja rolled out of bed, pulling his clothes from the day before back on. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well put himself to good use.

It was difficult to say what time it was, but the candles in the hallways had not yet been lit, meaning it was likely not yet dawn outside. Kuja wondered if everyone else was still asleep; he hadn't bothered checking Neirin's room to see if the king might already be awake and hard at work. Some mornings started earlier than others. Doubtless at least one of the guardians was still awake, probably Kraken, who seldom slept these days. She would be standing guard outside of Neirin's room, despite Vehtra's insistence that no guards were necessary within the Desert Palace. Kuja suspected the main reason the guardians stood watch every night was probably less to keep enemies _out_, and more to keep Neirin _in_, the better to ensure the young king got any rest at all.

The rest of the palace stood empty, though, and Kuja made his way in the dark toward the library. As he reached the doorway, though, he paused.

There was a light coming from inside the library.

Had he left a candle on earlier? Kuja frowned, but didn't call out – perhaps it was one of Arros' mages, studying in the quiet hours of the morning. Such a thing was uncommon (typically Kuja had the library to himself), but it did happen. He'd found the mages to be snippy when their studying was interrupted; companion of "the god" though he might be, he was still seen largely as an underfoot child.

Sighing, he made his way into the library, trying to be as quiet as possible. Sure enough, there _was_ someone in the library, sitting on the floor against the first shelf, legs tucked in beneath her as she flipped through a book. Kuja fought the urge to roll his eyes and turn the hell back around: it was the girl from before, the slave mage. He'd been actively trying to avoid her for the past few days, unwilling to see her staring at him as if he were some kind of miraculous apparition. Nothing he'd said to her had sunk in, that much was obvious. She still thought of Neirin as a god, Maliris as a legend, and silliest of all, Kuja as someone even _approaching _important.

Instead of leaving, though, he cleared his throat. "Good morning."

The girl looked up sharply, snapping her book shut and scrambling to her feet, stuttering, "F-forgive me, Lord Kuja, I didn't hear you- I didn't know- I was only-"

"Stop that." Was it going to be like this _every_ time he encountered her? "You have free reign of the palace, just like any of the other mages. And I'm not a lord," he added, looking awkwardly at the panel of stained glass nearby, unwilling to keep looking at her as long as she kept staring at him as if she expected him to sprout wings and flutter away. "It's just Kuja. Not _Lord_ Kuja, not _Sir_ Kuja, not even _Sir_, just… just Kuja."

She swallowed, still staring at him with wide grey eyes. "Yes, my… Kuja."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them then, and again Kuja considered simply giving up on his trip to the library. But how blatant would it be to simply walk into the library and then _leave_? He chanced a glance in the girl's direction. She was still standing still as a statue, clutching the book to her chest, staring at him as if…

…as if she were afraid.

Something within him unwound slowly, like a coiled rope being gradually lifted. He offered her a smile.

"You…" He gestured to the book she held. "You like to read, too?"

The girl blinked, then looked down at the book she held, as though noticing it for the first time. "Oh. No, I… I was never taught to read," she said, opening the book and turning it toward him. She turned the pages, revealing beautiful illustrations, each one more detailed and delicate than the last. "One of the other mages showed me this book. It's… it's about faerie tales and legends," she explained, closing the book and holding it close again, almost as if she feared he might take it from her. "I know the stories…"

"…So you recognize the stories from the pictures," Kuja guessed, giving the girl what he hoped was a friendly smile. She returned his smile, albeit a bit shyly.

"I… could show you the stories," she offered. Kuja didn't have the heart to tell her it was likely he already _knew_ most of the stories. It was a book for children, after all; different continent or no, it seemed unlikely that the myths and legends of the mother continent were all _that _different from those of Erras. And he wanted to look for information regarding that tree; he didn't have time to indulge some silly girl's desire to share faerie tales. Still… the way she looked at him now was somehow different from the fearful, idolizing stare from before, and perhaps this might go a long way toward showing her that, power be damned, Neirin and his entire party were, in fact, human.

He settled down on the floor beside her, careful not to block the light from the nearest candelabra. She turned to the first story. "This is about the Dragon King," she told him, pointing to the illustration: a man seated on a throne of dragon bones, wearing the crest of a dragon for his crown. In his hand was a staff, and at the top was a small dragon skull. "They say he conquered dragons and made them serve the people of Terra." She traced the shape of the man's throne, explaining, "His throne contained bones from every kind of dragon we know of! He taught dragonkind that people were to be feared and served."

"'…He faced the beasts one by one, and knew no fear,'" Kuja read, feeling strangely dizzy, as if he were gazing back through time. _There was a boy in Bran Bal who loved stories like this_, he thought, reeling. _Knights slaying dragons, warriors conquering beasts…_ How strange it seemed, now, that once upon a time, all that boy ever wanted was to be a hero like the knights in the stories: traveling to far-off lands, rescuing princesses, killing monsters. It seemed even stranger that now, years later, all that same boy should want was to go home and never leave it again.

But where was home?

Bran Bal? Traje? Astrula? Kiera? Kuja had spent so much of his time running from city to city that he no longer knew where _home _was.

"Sir… Kuja?" The girl was staring again. Kuja cleared his throat and shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind; this was no time for woolgathering. He gestured for her to keep going, and she turned the page. The next picture was of a young woman leaning to kiss a toad. Supposedly it was something about a prince being cursed and rescued by the kiss of a beautiful young princess; Kuja didn't pay much attention. The next story was about a knight who traveled across time and worlds to rescue his lover from a cycle thousands of years ago; the mage girl didn't explain how the knight's lover got there in the first place. She became more animated as she spoke, recalling what was obviously the primary source of entertainment from her childhood: she told the stories with more enthusiasm than they were written with in the book itself.

Kuja found himself smiling simply watching her – at one point she rose to her feet and danced somewhat clumsily around the library: "The Faerie Queen and the Prince of the Stars danced 'round and 'round," she half-sang, motioning as if she were dancing with a much taller invisible partner. "They danced and danced for so long the Prince of the Stars forgot to cast the stars across the heavens, and the full moon rose on a night when the stars didn't shine. The faeries were lost without their queen, and they could not travel without the stars to light their way."

She stopped, out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining, and for once, she didn't look terrified of him. Kuja laughed, and the girl gave him a small smile, then slowly resumed her dance, step by careful step. "The faeries knew they had to put the stars back, or their world would come to an end." She swept one foot around gracefully, spinning on the ball of her other foot before leaping smoothly to the other. "They stole the stars from the Prince's discarded cloak, one by one, and carefully swept them up into the sky, forming a long chain of stars as they passed from one faerie to the next." Here she took one step up the flight of stairs that led to the third bookshelf, then quickly leapt to the next, and the next.

Kuja watched her, transfixed not by the story, but by _her_. This was who _he _had once been, he realized, mystified – that boy who had loved stories enough to act them out in the forest; the boy who had longed for adventure. Here was a girl who longed for beauty and romance.

With any luck, _her _story wouldn't come true in the same way his had.

"But the faeries didn't know where the stars belonged in the sky, and all they knew of life, they knew from the forest." She danced her way back down the stairs, and stood in the middle of the library, arms at her sides. "So in the sky, star by star, the faeries assembled a great forest of starry trees, each one a perfect copy of one below. At the center of the star-forest, they created an enormous tree, far greater than any ever seen on the ground: it was the replica of their Mother Tree, where the Faerie Queen kept her kingdom." Slowly the girl began raising her arms, as if to show a tree growing. "The faeries liked their new Mother Tree so much that they forgot the Faerie Queen and her kingdom below, and they flew into the heavens.

"When the Prince of the Stars saw what they had done, immediately he stopped the dance." She swirled once, then froze. "Enraged, he began destroying the trees, scattering the stars to their rightful places. The Faerie Queen begged him not to destroy the starry Mother Tree, for her subjects where there. He did not listen." The girl threw her arms wide, and began spinning again, staring at the ceiling high above. "The Prince of the Stars destroyed the star-tree, scattering the stars to the far ends of the sky. The faeries trapped within were killed by the force of his rage."

The girl was panting heavily by the time she made her way back over to sit beside Kuja, her dance apparently concluded. She flipped through the book, which had fallen shut when she'd gotten up to begin her dance, and found the page the story had come from: "The Dance of the Faeries and Stars." She pointed to the picture, which was of a strangely-shaped tree. _The Mother Tree_, Kuja thought, studying the odd patterns that made up the branches, the strange dome at the top…

"It's made of faeries!" he exclaimed, pointing here and there, where the face of a faerie became most obvious. Sure enough, the entire design was made of the intertwined, twisted, contorted figures of winged people, eyes closed and faces calm and tranquil.

The girl nodded. "The story wasn't finished." She took a deep breath. "The faeries were killed, but their souls lingered. They stayed in the shape of the Mother Tree they had created, holding it together despite the Prince of the Stars' anger. Seeing this, the Prince of the Stars regretted his destruction, and called back a few of the stars he had sent away. The Mother Tree still lives among the stars, and some say the souls of those who cannot be reborn – faeries and monsters, for example, or those from other worlds – are gathered there, protected from-"

"_That's it!_" Kuja leapt to his feet, grabbing the girl's arms and pulling her up with him in his excitement. "The tree! It's for collecting _souls_!" He laughed, spinning the girl around. A strange giddiness had filled him – it made perfect sense; Taharka drew inspiration from folklore for Garland, why not for this strange tree, as well? Everything he did was for souls; everything he did was to prepare Terra for assimilation, everything was for a _reason_, this tree had a reason, too. He grabbed both of the girl's hands in his and squeezed. "You're _brilliant_; I've been looking for this for _days!_"

"I-" She began, bewildered, but by then he was laughing again, picking up the book and placing it in her arms, telling her what the tree meant, what the story meant, what Taharka meant to do.

He froze. "I have to tell Neirin," he realized, heading toward the door without a second glance back at the girl. "I have to tell _everyone_!"

xxx

"That's it, it _has_ to be," Kuja insisted, watching Neirin pace before the fireplace in the king's bedroom. Vehtra sat nearby, watching Kuja with intense scrutiny. Kuja couldn't say he blamed either of them for being skeptical. Somehow, this theory had seemed less insane an hour ago, when it had been just him and that mage girl (he hadn't asked her name, he realized, somewhat belatedly) in a dimly-lit library, after watching her dance around the room like a spirit. "Taharka came up with the plan for Garland based on an old story, why not this tree? What else could it be?"

Maliris, the guardian who had been standing watch outside of Neirin's door when Kuja had come barreling down the hallway, spoke up. "Aye, he drew inspiration from stories from the mother continent. But that's a tale from Erras, isn't it? I heard it growing up-"

"Then why was there a forest?" Kuja asked, desperate to make them see his point, however crazy it was. "There are no forests on Erras, definitely not one with a tree like that. It must have come from the mother continent."

The door squeaked open, and in came the other three guardians, looking weary and displeased. Kuja quickly explained the story, and his belief that the tree growing on the mother continent _must_ have some connection to the one in the story. "I haven't found anything else even _close_ to relevant," he insisted, looking from one irritated face to the next, wishing his theory didn't hinge on a story told by a dancing slave mage girl in the middle of the night. "The tree _must_ be connected to souls somehow; if only we could see it for ourselves somehow…"

"That's it, isn't it?" Neirin said suddenly, grinning.

"I don't like where this is going," Tiamat muttered, massaging his temples.

"We _have _to go see it for ourselves. We only have two dragons capable of a long flight, though." Neirin folded his arms over his chest, looking around the room at his companions. "One of you four needs to come with me for the sake of protection. As for you…" His gaze rested on Kuja. "Are you coming along?"

_As if you need to ask. _Kuja found himself grinning back. "I thought you were out of reckless, suicidal ideas," he replied. "Of course I'm coming along."

xxx

Left alone in the library, Safira knelt to the ground slowly as her trembling knees gave out from beneath her. She stared through the doorway after Kuja, clutching the book tightly to her chest, feeling her heart pounding through the thick cover. He had called her brilliant. He had looked her in the eyes and told her she was _brilliant_.

She stared into the dark doorway until she thought she could see stars.

_Come back,_ she thought, wanting it more than she'd ever wanted anything. For a moment, a brief moment, she'd felt special. No one had _ever _made her feel special.

_Please come back._

* * *

**Author's Note: **…Oh Safira, honey, _no_. :c


	37. Tree of Death

**Author's Note:** OH MY GOD IT'S A NEW CHAPTER YOU GUYS. I'm so sorry this took so long. I'm trying, I swear.

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Tree of Death**

For three days, the mages' quarters were eerily quiet. No one came to fetch them for the creation rituals; it was as if they had all been forgotten. Nervous whispers filled the rooms: was the army complete? Or had the god deserted them, leaving Kiera to fend for itself? No one dared to leave, though – what if they were needed again? What if _Kiera_ needed them again?

On the third day, Safira found her courage. For three days _his_ face and his words had been in her thoughts – _You're brilliant!_ – and to think she might never see him again, to think he might have abandoned Kiera as the others believed… no, she couldn't' bear it. She crept quietly out of the mages' quarters, padding silently down the halls to the palace library. She'd gone there at least once a day for the past few days, hoping he might be there, only to find the room empty: the torches cold, the books still neatly put away. She always turned back then, heading swiftly back to the mages' quarters before anyone could accuse her of being where she sh ouldn't be. The mages were said to have freedom within the palace, but Safira wasn't taking her chances.

Today, though, she left the library and resolutely headed deeper into the palace. Somewhere, the god and his attendants were doing all they could to protect Kiera and her people – surely they wouldn't have abandoned the city now, now that the army was growing. The palace was so quiet, though. Where was everyone? Safira's courage waned as she walked into places she never expected to be allowed, but no one appeared to stop her. The palace may as well have been deserted.

Just when she was about to give up and turn back, she turned a corner and found one of the god's guardians, the large, sad-eyed woman the others called 'Kraken.' Safira froze in place, tensed to run, but she forced herself to bow respectfully instead. Kraken stared back at her, surprised.

"Out for a walk?"

Safira swallowed. "No, my lady. I'm – I'm looking for Lord Kuja."

"Left three days ago." Kraken's expression was still surprised, but guarded now, and something Safira didn't like lurked just beneath the surface. "He went to investigate something on the Mother Continent with Neirin and Lich."

"They _left?_" Safira's shrill voice cracked. "But – Kiera –"

"They'll be back; calm down." Kraken strode forward, placing her hands on Safira's trembling shoulders. "They're looking into something. Don't worry, Kiera's safe in our hands."

A second concern struck Safira suddenly – he'd left without a word. She knew she had no right to want or expect a farewell, but she'd hoped…

"What's that look?" Kraken asked, tipping her chin up gently. "Don't you fret, they'll be back safe and sound. In the meantime, you and the others can get some well-deserved rest."

"It's only… I wanted to talk to Lord Kuja again." Safira found she couldn't even _attempt_ to meet Kraken's gaze; there was something dark and broken inside the woman, and there was pain deep in her eyes.

Kraken was silent for a long while, still holding Safira's shoulders. Then: "Don't do this to yourself, girl."

Safira blinked. "What – my lady? Don't do what?"

"Kuja. Don't."

Safira felt her cheeks burn. "Forgive me – I'm not – I'm not forgetting – my position –" She swallowed hard. "I don't aim above my station, my lady, I only-"

"It's not that." Kraken released her, turning away. "It hardly matters what your _position_ is. If I thought you'd make him happy, I'd tell you to have at him and damn what anyone else thought of it, but you won't." Safira said nothing, staring at the floor. Her eyes stung, but no tears fell. Kraken didn't turn to look at her. "It's not your fault, nothing you did. He's…" Kraken hesitated, considering. "…He's seen too much. I'm not sure he has it in him to care for anyone but Neirin at this point; I'm not sure he has it in him to care for _anyone_ who hasn't seen it all with him. And… I'm not sure you'd survive the world he's lived in."

Safira looked up, blinking hard to clear her eyes of unshed tears. "Such trials, to be a god's attendant-"

"And that's part of it." Kraken finally turned to her. "You're so full of blind hope. Kuja was like that once, too: a child with no idea how the world worked. Big dreams, and a full life ahead of him. And now?" She looked into Safira's eyes. The girl held the gaze for only a moment before her eyes lowered to the floor once more. "What about you? We've all lost so much more than you can even imagine having. Love someone else, girl. You'll be happier for it."

A silence fell between them then, and Safira trembled miserably. Krken's voice softened. "I'm sorry. Better now than later."

"Yes, my lady. Thank you."

"The king and the others should be back as soon as possible," Kraken added. "Get as much rest as possible. You'll all need it."

xxx

The tree was even larger than the scout's report had led them to believe. It sprawled over the entire island, its roots biting deep into the soil. The earth around it was toxic, grey-blue and dead, but the tree was an unnaturally bright, vibrant green. The branches constricted one another, reaching upward into a strange dome-like structure at the top. It looked nothing like a normal tree, and better resembled a building – though what such a building would be for was anyone's guess. The air was stale and cold, creeping along the branches in a thin mist. There were no beasts to be seen among the branches and leaves – the tree seemed to forbid the presence of animals; of life itself.

"I've never seen anything like it," Lich said, keeping his distance even as Neirin and Kuja crept closer. "There's nothing of the like mentioned in any geographical studies of the area – but this, it must be hundreds, _thousands_ of years old; look at the _size_ of it!"

Neirin pointed back toward the shore, and the nearby, visible coast of the mother continent. "Lisre is right over there. We were here only three years ago and saw nothing like this." But surely the tree's proximity to Taharka's previous seat of power couldn't be a coincidence, Neirin thought. But for it to have grown so fast, so tall, in so little time…! What purpose did it serve for Taharka, and could they put a stop to it? How would they ever go about such a thing; they could hardly cut the tree down. Poisoning it seemed equally unlikely: if it could survive in such a foul place… he glanced at Kuja. "Any ideas?"

"We'll probably have to climb it, or fly to the top." Kuja had been quiet during the flight, surveying the destruction Taharka had wrought on the continent he'd once called home. Everywhere were the burned shells of cities. In the long flight from Kiera, they had passed no living cities; they had seen no people. Neirin suggested perhaps there were some survivors hiding out somewhere in the ruins, or in the mountains, perhaps even underground. The more he saw of the continent, though, the less Kuja believed in that possibility. That there may have once been survivors, he didn't doubt. That any still lived…

He looked up at the tree, trying to see to the top. In the story the girl had shared with him, the tree was made up of the souls of faeries killed when the Prince of the Stars destroyed the star-tree they'd created. This looked like any other tree, albeit a strange one. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on one of the large roots nearby; the root alone was taller than he was. Beneath his hand, it was solid and cold, damp from the mist, but wood all the same: it was the same as any other tree, no more, no less.

Kuja wasn't certain what he'd expected.

Neirin, too, placed a hand on the roots. "I've no skill for climbing, and we've no time for it." He glanced back at Lich and the silver dragons, who looked no worse for their long flight. "We'll fly."

The years had done little to improve Kuja's dislike of flight, but he no longer feared he'd fall from the harness. This flight at least was blessedly short, carrying them to the top of the tree in minutes. Within the dome the branches formed a flat, smooth surface, as steady as any floor. Kuja made the mistake of glancing down toward the ground – the tree was far taller than he'd expected, and he swayed dizzily. _Heights. Why is it always heights?_ He turned away from the edge, swallowing; he was more willing to face whatever was within the dome than to look back down at the ground again.

It was dark, filled with a heavy, black mist. The dragons refused to go any further, preferring to linger near the outer branches, where the pale sunlight still filtered in. Kuja wondered what they sensed, and whether defying that instinct was wise. Still, if they could find anything here to tell them what Taharka was doing…

_This is no place for the living. _At first, he believed it was his own thought, brought on by the deepening dark of the clinging, stale mist and the lack of any visible structures within the dome. He followed Neirin closely, as did Lich. The king moved carefully across the branches, drawing shallow breaths – something about this mist seemed unnatural and foul. Kuja scanned the area cautiously; this would be an ideal place for an ambush, inescapable as it was. _This is no place for the living_.

_The living must join the dying, and the dying must then rejoin the living. Such is the Cycle of Souls. _

Kuja paused, looking around. "Do you… hear something?"

_This is where the dead wait for a rebirth that cannot come until the cycle is renewed. This is no place for the living._

"This is no place for the living," Neirin repeated, nodding slowly. "Who speaks?"

_We are the souls of Terra, awaiting rebirth_.

"The souls of Terra." Lich's voice was full of wonder. "Are they trapped here? They should be reborn as the Cycle of Souls continues, unless the cycle itself has been stifled. Which would mean…"

_Terra dies. We await her resurrection. This tree safeguards us against the merge with our new world. So much of Terra has died. So little will survive the merge with Gaia. We must be ready. We must survive._

Neirin turned in a slow, full circle, looking around as if he could see the souls gathered in the tree. "Did Taharka build this tree?"

_No._

"Where did it come from?" The king looked around. "If not Taharka-"

_The tree is always here, but the living cannot see it. The living have no place here. Taharka has hastened the cycle, and the tree has come into physical presence before all of the living have been silenced. It matters not. We must be ready. The tree grows eager for the merge._

Kuja was uneasy; had the mist grown darker? He could barely see the dragons and the sunlight only a short distance away. The voies in his head seemed louder, more numerous, angrier, yet exultant.

_When the final soul of Terra breathes life into this tree, the merge shall be complete. We shall devour Gaia. We shall make it ours. We shall make it Terra. _

"The final soul of Terra," Neirin repeated. "How many remain?"

_Few. The final soul will awaken the tree, and together we shall consume the infant Gaia. Its life will become ours. We will be reborn. Such is the Cycle of Souls._

"Is there any way to force the cycle of souls to continue now?" Kuja asked, his voice louder than he'd intended. "Without merging with Gaia?"

Silence.

_No_. _Terra must merge now, or die._

"Then Taharka has succeeded." Lich sank to his knees, staring up at the top of the dome. "Nothing we can do will stop him now."

"We knew that." Neirin's voice was flat. "We knew there was nothing we could do to save Terra. But we can still stop Taharka's plans. We can still give Terra a fresh start, as it is meant to be, without Taharka's golems." He looked around the dome. "How much longer?" he demanded. "How much longer until Terra merges with Gaia? Surely you know that much."

_Fewer than five years. Already Gaia develops life. If it is allowed to develop further, it will develop its own Cycle of Souls. Attempting fusion then will destroy what life remains on Terra, and disrupt our Cycle. Terra will be forced into stasis. Gaia must not be given time to develop its own Cycle of Souls. Five years may be too long._

Five years.

They had less than five years to destroy Taharka. Kuja looked at Neirin, half-expecting the king to show the same helplessness he felt, himself, but Neirin instead looked determined – it gave him hope. "You have a plan?"

"Not a new one," Neirin replied. "Kiera is our last hope, as it has been since the day we arrived there. Time is our only concern now." He glanced from Kuja to Lich. "We need to draw Taharka out. Three years without any news of his doings is too long, and this tree has nothing to do with him; we need to draw him to Kiera before it's too late."

Lich touched the skulls at his throat, a familiar gesture Kuja now recognized as a nervous tic. "Is the army ready?" the old guardian asked, staring hard at Neirin. "If you would throw the city into war, you must first be certain it can withstand it."

"We're all doomed as it stands," Neirin replied, shrugging with a lightness he didn't feel. "Prepared or not, the end of the world is coming. If I must die, I refuse to do so without having done all I could to destroy Taharka first. I've built an army and a fortress at Kiera. We're as prepared to face Taharka as anyone could ever hope to be." He glanced at Kuja. "What do _you_ think? Are we ready to face an attack?"

_We'll never be ready. _Kuja thought of the shadow army, the mages collapsing as soldiers grew in their place. The walls of Kiera gleaming in the sunlight, challenging anyone and everyone to test their might. The bloodstones and monoliths in place to shield the palace.

And all of the cities Taharka had burned. An empty, dead continent.

He shook his head. "We'll have to try."

"Then," Neirin said, turning on his heel and walking briskly toward the dragons. "We must get his attention."

* * *

**Author's Note: **This is going to end well.


	38. The First Sacrifice

**Author's Note:** If you're not already, you should totally follow or otherwise watch me on Tumblr. o 3o I'm currently taking a lot of requests for things people want me to elaborate on. My name is sezja; I tag everything fic-related with "origins." If you're interested. o uo …ONWARD TO PAIN, THIS CHAPTER WAS HARD TO WRITE

...Also I'm not sure what's going on; I couldn't edit this chapter ideally, so I'll probably have to go back and fix some weird formatting issues; if things change a lot over the next hour or two, that's why.

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: The First Sacrifice**

Against Neirin's wishes, they stayed that night on the shore near the tree – they needed to come up with a plan, Lich insisted, and Kuja was inclined to agree. If Neirin had his way, they'd be flying straight into Taharka's hands, dancing away at the last minute and – hopefully – fleeing back to Kiera with Taharka breathing down their necks the entire way. Bringing Kiera into what could amount to an all-out war with Taharka's forces with no notice was an unlikely strategy; they'd be delivering the city into Taharka's hands, and nothing more.

"What then?" Neirin paced furiously at the rocky shoreline at sunset, pausing occasionally to hurl a rock into the waves. "We return to Kiera and spend the next five years awaiting the end of the world? Kiera is as ready as I can hope to make them; we're only wasting time!"

Kuja sat on one of the tall roots, staring across the water toward what remained of Lisre. An entire continent broken and burned, and all that remained was one city, far away, cradled by the desert and shielded by high, strong walls. Walls could be broken, though, and the desert offered no protection if the city needed to be evacuated. Neirin's army and magical defenses could prove worthless against Taharka's magic-draining stone – Vehtra claimed he had a plan, but refused to divulge any part of it. Kuja pulled his knees to his chest, sighing deeply.

"And in the meantime, whatever Taharka's doing – whatever mad scheme he's been keeping busy with these past three years – he's only getting closer to completing his goals!" Neirin glared first at Lich, then at Kuja, who ignored him. "We don't even _know_ what he's been up to!" The king stormed up to the root Kuja was sitting on, throwing a rock that struck the wood just below the boy's foot. "_You_ would be content to spend the next five years in Kiera, holed up in the library reading useless books-"

"You don't have an actual _plan_," Kuja retorted, glaring down at Neirin. "We can't just fly up to Pandemonium. If he catches you, he's not going to give you the _chance_ to escape." He stood, balancing awkwardly on the root. "Do you have a plan beyond 'get his attention?' _Do_ you, Neirin?"

They stood that way for what felt like an eternity. Kuja gave in first, dropping back down on the root, looking back toward Lisre. He felt strangely hollow; the world was coming to an end, and here he was, still trying to keep a stubborn mage from running off to his own demise.

How little things had changed.

Neirin glowered at Kuja a moment longer before the fight finally left him; he sighed and slumped against the root, wishing the others weren't absolutely correct: he didn't have a plan. Flying blind into Pandemonium would do so little, and risk so much – if Taharka captured him, everything, all of their preparations in Kiera, would be for nothing. But if they _waited_…

Already three years had passed with no sign that Taharka was planning to attempt a second assault on Kiera's walls. There had been no sign of him whatsoever. Perhaps it should have eased Neirin's mind, but instead, it terrified him: what if Taharka was proceeding with his plans, regardless? What if he'd found another First Soul, another vessel for Garland? What would become of Terra?

"We'll discuss this matter in the morning." Lich knelt over a small, weak fire, carefully suppressing it with magic – even shielded by the roots, he didn't want to reveal their presence to anyone who might be watching. He glanced up at the two sulking young men. "In the morning, when we're all better-rested and better-tempered."

xxx

This was a bloody business.

Taharka moved swiftly, carefully, slicing into the young woman's abdomen. She tried to struggle – not born of any resistance on her own part, Taharka believed, but out of mere physical pain – and screamed against the strip of leather in her mouth. She had volunteered for this, knowing it would take her life: she was not a suitable candidate, but for the purpose of experimentation, for the purpose of furthering Terra's survival, all of his followers would gladly give their lives. He ignored her screams, dragging the knife swiftly to reveal the abdominal cavity.

The body was a work of art far surpassing anything his alchemy could accomplish; even the Genomes were only crafted in pale mimicry of what nature had created first. Taharka had performed this operation three times now, and each time, the sight of the exposed organs – the way they pulsed, red and wet, full of vitality – never failed to make him catch his breath and stare in wonder.

Already the woman had gone quiet, whimpering and twitching, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling overhead. The first subject had died at this stage, but Taharka knew now that small amounts of strong healing magic – not enough to mend the flesh, but enough to prevent death – could sustain the body, fending off the deadly effects of shock. His other followers, entrusted with the healing process, stood nearby. None of them could bear to look at the woman lying naked on the stone table, her limbs and torso held secure, her internal organs exposed for all the world to see.

Taharka couldn't understand how they could look away.

He returned to his senses and set himself to the task of removing the unnecessary digestive and reproductive organs. At this, the woman began to scream again, straining hard against her bindings.

"How life fights for survival," Taharka mused, setting the organs aside one-by-one. Though they were to be disposed of, still he wanted to admire them; how beautiful the body was, in all of its individual parts, down to the curves of the liver, down to the delicate twists of the uterus and its accompanying tubes. "Even after the mind submits to pain, to death itself, the body fights on."

The cavity was empty now, only the heart and lungs remained above, still pulsing and steadily inflating, deflating. The second subject had died here, but once again, the trick was to maintain careful healing – too much would overwhelm the body; too little and the body would die outright. The brain, the lungs, the heart must remain functioning at all times.

Taharka stepped back, watching carefully for signs of failure. The woman lacked the strength to struggle now; her screams came in short, shuddery bursts. She still stared at the ceiling, never trying to look at him the way the other two subjects had. A minute passed without the body failing, and Taharka breathed a sigh of relief.

"The core," he said, beckoning to one of his attendants, who brought forward a crystal sphere, cradling it in his hands like the most fragile of eggs. It was not _the_ core, of course, but a fair imitation – the core that would sustain Garland was of stronger material, meant to hold more power and last far longer. This one was fueled by the magic of his own followers – a temporary model at best; meant only for the purpose of this project.

Carefully, he lowered the core into the woman's abdominal cavity, fusing it with the fragile flesh connections he had severed from the organs. The core glowed a pale white – it would not sustain the woman for long, but he didn't need her to last much longer.

Again he stepped back, waiting for signs of failure. The woman had gone limp now, but her chest rose and fell.

She had survived.

"Excellent work," he commended her, taking her hand in both of his blood-soaked gloves. "You have done well for Terra."

Her eyes closed. She squeezed his hand, but said nothing. Taharka did not attempt to force words from her; such a trying operation was enough to exhaust anyone. And the project was not yet over.

"Bring the device." He had debated over the safety of removing the soul-controlling chair from its place deep in the dungeons of Pandemonium, but in the end, it had proven necessary. The body, lacking the strengthening armor that would support Garland, was weak. Trying to move the woman now would likely kill her, and already they had made so much progress – to fail here would be a crippling disappointment.

The device had been carefully dismantled from the chair and brought to the laboratory. Moving quickly but carefully, Taharka arranged the necessary machines, always keeping an eye on the woman for any sign she might be dying – but no, she breathed steadily, calmly. The mages still focused on healing her – just in case – but the danger, for the most part, appeared to have passed.

"I do this not because your own soul isn't biddable," he informed her as he worked. "But to test a theory. Your devotion to the restoration of Terra will not be forgotten." She nodded, and he thought he saw a smile on her lips, but he was too busy to be certain. It was unimportant, anyway.

_The body becomes a vessel_… He activated the device. _Which greets a new soul_.

xxx

Kuja watched the fire, trying not to think. His mind would not be still, though. _The world is ending_, he thought, wishing it scared him more. Why should it? What was left to live for? The cities they'd once lived in were ashes. The people they'd known were dead. Five years, the souls in the tree said: five years until it was all over, no more, perhaps less. Strange, to think he would be dead in five years. Strange, to think they would _all_ be dead in five years. Even Neirin, who they'd all fought so hard to keep alive.

The thought enraged him. He stood, unable to remain in one place without exploding; Neirin was trying to sleep nearby, and he needed the rest.

He stormed toward the tree; it was a long walk, and would give him time to clear his head. _It isn't fair_. He glared up at the moon overhead, an impassive red sphere. _It shouldn't be like this_. All those years ago, they'd thought keeping Neirin away from Taharka was enough; no one ever told them he was going to destroy the planet itself. No one told them they had to keep Terra _and_ Neirin safe, no one told him they were going to live to see the end of the world. No one told them that even if they managed to keep Neirin away from Taharka, he would die anyway.

And maybe that was the worst part.

It was all so futile.

All this time spent hiding, running, crafting magical defenses, moving in the shadows, fleeing in the night, all of it was for _nothing_. In the end Neirin would die, and so would everyone and everything else.

"Kuja!" A voice in the darkness made him jump, skittering a few feet back and preparing for an attack. A small flame appeared, revealing Lich, holding the small fire forward. "You're lucky, lad; I nearly attacked you."

"Same," Kuja replied, composing himself. "What are you-"

"Someone has to keep watch." Lich glanced toward their small campsite. "I suspected the two of you could use the rest, and I'm weary of being useless."

Kuja shifted uncomfortably. "We're all useless. Terra's doomed."

"Terra takes care of herself." Lich smiled sadly, looking up at the tree. There was no wind, but the branches far overhead rustled faintly; from here, it sounded like whispers. "It isn't Terra that will suffer; Terra always finds a new, younger planet, and absorbs its crystal to sustain her life. No, Kuja, _we_ are doomed. Even then, though… I suppose we'll be born again, all of us."

"But everything we've done-"

"Was pointless, useless? Is that what you think?"

Kuja leaned back against the nearest root, uncertain. Near the campsite, he could make out the shape of Neirin, his back to the fire, curled up beneath a traveling cloak. It seemed wrong, somehow, that after everything they'd been through, the king's death was inevitable – and that, at best, all they could hope to do now was to keep him out of Taharka's grasp until the end of the world.

"So it is." Lich rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't harbor such thoughts, boy; if the end of the world is at hand, then at the very least, we've been given the chance to decide the manner of our death. We can die fighting Taharka to the bitter end if need be, or we can run scared until time itself defeats us." The old mage chuckled, glancing up at the tree overhead once more. "The Lich was meant to be the guardian of the earth and of death, standing in judgment over mortals. How fitting, then, that souls seek refuge in a tree, the emblem of the earth itself?" He removed his hand from Kuja's shoulder, shifting it to the root behind him. "And if I'm meant to be the guardian of death, I see no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to choose how I die."

"Lich?"

The man blinked, looking back at him. "Think nothing of it, Kuja. Go back to Neirin; you need rest as badly as he does."

With that, he set off again, moving calmly, quietly between the roots. Kuja watched him until he was out of sight, vanishing behind one of the taller roots, then walked back to the campsite in a daze.

xxx

Failure.

Taharka gestured for the corpse to be disposed of, unable to form the words himself; the weight of his own failure sat heavy on his shoulders. It was for nothing, then. A normal soul could be removed, could be manipulated, could be returned to the original body, but to attempt to force a new soul into the empty body... this had proved impossible, despite his best efforts. Perhaps it was a flaw in the woman's body or soul, but he could see no reason why that should be – the only difficult part was preparing the body for the core.

It was the failure of the core that had ultimately killed the woman; before that, she had calmly submitted to having her soul removed and replaced, removed and replaced, always the same soul, always unchanged, despite his efforts to force in a different one. Until the core failed, the project could very well have gone on forever and continued to prove the project impossible.

An original First Soul was necessary.

But a First Soul could not be manipulated without fracturing.

And even if he managed to find Neirin alive, the last living First Soul he knew of, he would never be able to craft Neirin into the ideal guardian for Terra, and Neirin would never submit willingly. He could not be trusted with such power and authority over the souls of Terra.

There were to be no more births; the cycle of souls was preparing for the world's renewal.

"Master Taharka?"

What then? Allow Terra to die and revive itself as it always had, a cycle of life and death without end? Allow all of his plans to come to nothing?

"Master Taharka!"

The voice finally broke through his fury, and he whirled to face the attendant he'd passed the mirrors to, only months ago, when he had decided they were of no use. "What is it?"

The man flinched at the sharpness of his leader's tone, but straightened. "Master, you asked to be informed if there was any change in the mirrors."

_What?_ Taharka felt his mind clearly slowly, pieces falling back into place. The mirrors, part of his earliest plans, long since discarded as useless. If Neirin was dead, as he suspected, then surely the Guardians of Terra were, as well. Already he had begun re-shaping his plans to create a seal between Gaia and Terra to prevent too much of Gaia from taking over the dominant structures of Terra, but those plans had been progressing slowly. To think he might find success now, _now_, when he'd faced such terrible failure…

"What change?" He didn't wait for a response, brushing past the man and walking swiftly toward the chamber he'd set aside for the mirrors' storage. _If the mirrors are active, then_…

The Earth mirror, a smooth plate of crystal set against a golden frame, glowed ever-so-faintly, almost too dim to be seen in the bright chamber. Taharka picked it up with shaking hands, feeling the warmth that radiated from it: the mirror was active. The mirror was _active_. The Earth Guardian still lived.

The Earth Guardians still lived, and was _nearby_.

"Send out scouts," he commanded. "They seek Lich, the prince's guardian, an old man –" Unless, of course, the prince had found new guardians in the time since he'd last crossed paths with the boy. " – Or anyone. Bring _anyone_ you find. The mirror is faint; he's far. Fly _now_, and don't return empty-handed, that's an order!"

xxx

The horizon was an angry red at dawn, and Kuja hadn't slept at all. The fire had burned out hours ago, so he'd occupied himself with listening to Neirin breathe and the waves washing against the shore, and counting how many times Lich passed by. His mind raced, stumbling over everything he'd learned and heard the day before; it all seemed too big to consider now – he was only fourteen; how could he be expected to contemplate the end of the world?

"I can feel you thinking too much." Neirin's voice was dry and drowsy. The king shifted and sat up, yawning. "Where did Lich wander off to?"

"He's been keeping watch," Kuja replied, also sitting up. He hesitated. "Neirin-"

The king waved it off. "I don't have a plan, you were right."

"Still."

"Aren't you _supposed_ to be the one to tell me when I'm being foolish?" Neirin shoved him lightly, smiling. "Don't apologize; come up with a plan for me, scholar."

Before Kuja could respond, Lich returned. "You're both awake early." He glanced between the two of them, frowning. "I don't suppose you've stopped squabbling."

"It was hardly a _squabble_." Neirin stood, brushing himself off. "But yes, we've decided we need to come up with a plan."

Lich shook his head. "No need."

"What?" The king took a step back; Kuja looked up, startled. Neirin shook his head. "But – I – we can't just – "

"Not you, no. You and Kuja will take the dragons back to Kiera and prepare for Taharka's attack."

It took a moment for the meaning of Lich's words to sink in. Neirin stared at him, endless protests boiling just out of reach, and none of them made any sense. Kuja looked away, back at the ocean. _The right to choose how you die,_ he recalled. _So this is what it all comes down to._

Neirin found his voice. "You mean to be captured, then."

Lich nodded, his expression grave. "Not right away, of course. I'll give you both time to escape the continent. And I'll not go down without a fight." He rested both hands on Neirin's shoulders, his expression giving way to a smile. "I'll show Taharka just who taught you everything you know, boy!"

"And a few things I never learned," Neirin added. His voice shook, but he stood firm. "If you can escape –"

"If I can escape, I'll meet you in Kiera."

Kuja listened to the exchange, watching the sun rise.

This wouldn't be the last death he had to listen to, he expected.

xxx

Lich watched the two dragons disappear into the distance, hoping they hadn't taken too much of a risk by flying this far inland. He'd requested they drop him off not far from the ruins of Traje – according to the Kieran scout, Pandemonium had last been seen floating high over the city. With any luck, the silver dragons would blend in with the clouds overhead and attract no notice; he'd instructed Neirin to fly high and hard, at least until they reached the ocean.

Neirin.

It was an odd pain, watching him go.

A part of him wondered if he hadn't chosen this death to avoid the pain of watching Neirin die: the boy was as good as a son to him; he'd watched the king grow from a boy to a man. And his death was inevitable now; the end of the world was coming more swiftly than they could have imagined. It wasn't only Neirin's death he hoped to hide from, but those of his fellow guardians. How many times had he watched their backs in combat; how many times had they watched his? It would have been a fine thing to see them all once more, just one last time, before the end… but now was no time for thinking about what might have been. Time had caught up to him. Dying in combat with Taharka and his flock would be far better than rotting away as he grew ever older; perhaps this was the best outcome.

He began the long walk to Traje. He'd made this walk once before, albeit in the opposite direction, in pursuit of Neirin – ah, what a night that was! The fear of not knowing where the boy had gone, knowing only that they'd sent him off down a tunnel to a safehouse he'd surely not have stayed in – he'd been so sure Neirin was dead already. And the boy, Kuja, what a lucky child! To have survived that terrifying night in the castle alone was a miracle, but to have survived this long…

"He'll be the last of us," Lich said aloud, his voice echoing across the dead landscape. "The last of us all."

Perhaps he should have named the boy his replacement. It was well within the rights of a current guardian to name his successor if the ruling king or queen had no one in mind, and Kuja would make a fine Guardian of Terra – perhaps not in combat, no, but he had a quick wit and determination. And his loyalty to Neirin was unquestionable; he was perhaps the king's only true friend, there not for duty, not for the king's skill with magic, but out of friendship and an odd sort of love.

A dragon soared overhead. He glanced up. Not one of the silver dragons, no, this was a battered, tawny thing, flying low to the ground. A scout. The dragon circled back quickly and descended, skidding along the ground while its rider, a starved-looking young man, pointed a bow at Lich's heart.

"Stay where you are!"

Lich lifted his hands. "I've no intention of doing otherwise. Have you come to capture me?"

The man was caught off guard, but he didn't lower the bow. "Y… Yes, are you Lich? The guardian?"

"I am."

"Then… stay where you are!" The man lowered the bow and slid down from the dragon's side, watching Lich warily, as if he feared the old man might bolt at any moment. Lich watched, amused, as the man withdrew a length of rope. "I'm going to bind you-"

"Must you? I despise rope."

"-And take you to Master Taharka."

Lich nodded. "Exactly what I had hoped you might say."

xxx

The mirror was white-hot. Taharka held it regardless, basking in what that warmth meant: there was still hope for some small piece of his plan. Perhaps even a far larger piece of it: if this guardian was alive, what of Neirin? True, his projects thus far had proven futile, but if he held Neirin secure, then perhaps further testing might reveal some answer. Perhaps there was some avenue he'd not yet pursued. Much could be accomplished if all of the pieces of the puzzle were accounted for.

True, the fact that the guardian was alone concerned him, but there would be time enough to determine whether or not that was significant. Taharka clung to the small thread of hope presented to him.

"Master," one of his attendants called. "A rider has returned with the guardian."

"You are certain?" The question was unnecessary; the burning mirror in his hands was enough of an indication. He shoved the mirror into the woman's hands. She yelped, but didn't dare drop it. "Ready an Epitaph. I'll need it the moment it's complete."

He walked briskly to the observatory, where as the woman had claimed, a dragon stood alongside two passengers: a young man, and…

"Lich." Taharka stepped forward calmly, all of the tension unraveling within him. "How long it has been."

The guardian nodded. "Taharka."

"And where is your charge?" Taharka didn't dare show the anxiety he felt. _If Neirin is dead…_ "You haven't failed in your duty as a Guardian of Terra, I hope? The prince lives?"

"The _king_ lives."

Taharka might have wept for joy. "King, is it? So he's been crowned, then." He nodded thoughtfully. "It is good to know he lives, though; I feared Garland might never be created at this rate."

A muscle twitched in the guardian's jaw. "Garland will never be created."

"There's very little preventing his creation." Taharka smiled warmly. "I know now that Neirin is alive. It may be difficult to track him down, but there are few places he could hide for long. You've seen the state our world is in, have you not, Lich? Pandemonium is one of the last remaining safe havens on this continent."

"He isn't on this continent." Lich lifted an eyebrow. "I suppose that complicates your search somewhat."

Taharka's smile never fluctuated. "Not on this continent? And where is he, then?"

"Erras," the guardian replied calmly. "For the past three years. You were very near to him at your construction site in the desert, weren't you? A pity you never thought to look around."

The smile dropped from Taharka's lips. "_Oeilvert,_" he breathed, lunging forward and seizing the guardian by the collar of his robe. "_You were there!_"

"Of course." Lich was unruffled. "We heard your cultists had taken a young woman hostage. We meant to free her."

"The Ark." Taharka released the man's collar, taking a shaky step back. "The girl, that girl, you _knew_ her?"

Lich nodded. "She was one of us. A friend."

_One of them!_ No wonder the Invincible had failed; that girl was one of Neirin's companions! Taharka turned away, nearly driven to storm from the room or kill the smug guardian outright – but no. He turned back. "Her soul corrupted my Invincible!"

"Very sorry to hear it."

"Why are you alone?" Taharka asked suddenly, looking at the guardian as if seeing him for the first time. "Where are the others? If Neirin is on Eras, then…"

"The others are there, as well." Lich shrugged. "My reasons for being here are my own. Perhaps I wanted to see Traje once more before I died."

The cultist's eyes narrowed. "Lies."

"Perhaps."

"Why, then?"

"Are you going to kill me?" Lich asked, presenting his unbound hands with a smile. "I'm eager to see you make the attempt, cultist. I've been longing for your death since the night you burned Traje."

The cultist took a step back despite himself, and the young man holding the dragon's harness looked uneasy – the rope used to bind Lich lay on the ground behind him, burned through. In the palm of the guardian's hand was a violet-tinged spark: the beginning of a lightning spell.

Lich glanced at his palm, surprised and pleased. "So magic works now, does it?"

"The Gulug Stone was used to strengthen the bindings on the failed Invincible." Taharka saw no reason to conceal this. Soon it would make no difference. "So that wretched soul wouldn't escape."

"May she find peace." The spark in Lich's hand grew. "You've not answered my question."

Behind Taharka, the door slid open, and a young woman entered, pushing a small, squat statue on a rolling platform. "Master Taharka, the Epitaph is prepared," she said, stepping back. Lich noticed her hands; they were wrapped tightly in bandages. She took a few further steps back, then turned and ran from the room. Taharka gestured to the boy who had brought Lich here, and together he and the dragon flew back out into the morning air.

"Your question? Am I going to kill you, you mean?"

Lich eyed the statue curiously. "Yes."

Taharka shook his head. "Oh no, dear Lich, I wouldn't kill you. I have plans for you." He laughed, backing out of the room. "I'll give Neirin your regards."

The door slammed shut. Lich heard what sounded like a key in the lock – it was unsurprising they'd choose this room for his prison, as there was only one door and the rest of the room opened into the sky. _But why the statue_? He stepped closer to it, but it showed no signs of moving – and why should a statue move, anyway, he wondered? Bolder now, he walked up to the thing and knelt, studying it. What an odd sculpture – a small man, holding a stone tablet. "'Epitaph,'" he read. "'Heaven grant the wandering souls eternal repose.' Strange." Stranger still, there was what appeared to be a crack from the top of the statue to the base, splitting the statue neatly in half. Frowning, Lich reached forward and touched the crack…

…And the statue's stone tablet slid wide open, revealing a mirror.

Despite his own mind urging against it, Lich found he was reaching forward, touching the smooth surface of the mirror. It burned; he snapped his hand back, but the burning continued. He held his hand close to his chest reflexively, and the burning spread, first to his chest, then his back, his legs, his arms, his face. _What is this?_ He backed away, staggering, from the mirror, but his legs gave out. Looking down, he realized with horror they were burning away to bone, as were his hands as he moved. The pain was intense, searing its way into his core.

He didn't die.

There was a sound; he didn't recognize it as his own terrified, pained shrieking. His eyes burned, yet still he could see: his legs were festering, his torso dissolving and burning away into exposed bone.

He didn't die.

There was a pain in his head unlike any he'd ever experienced, as if the bone itself was exploding. He clutched at his face and head in agony, terrified to feel exposed bone there, terrified to realize his hands were growing, twisting into claws. His mind was slipping now. Who was he meant to protect? What was he doing here? How had he come to be here? He screamed again and again, clawing at the tattered remnants of what had once been legs; bones that shouldn't have been there at all were protruding from the rotting flesh. Who was he? There was something he needed to do, something he was meant to protect.

_Terra_, he remembered. _I am a Guardian of Terra_.

He clawed his way to the balcony. If he could only fall, if he could only jump, if he could only _die_.

Beyond the door, Taharka listened to the guardian's tortured screams, and smiled.

Finally. Everything was back in order.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go cry and drink.


	39. Left Alone

**Author's Note:** My god, this thing almost has 40 chapters. Remember when it was only going to be 30? I'm so ridiculously proud of it, though.

(Also, the weird formatting in chapter 38 has been fixed.)

* * *

**Origins**

By LeFox

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Left Alone**

It was mid-morning by the time they reached Kiera; Neirin didn't stop to rest the dragons. Neirin didn't stop for anything. Kuja wondered what was going through the king's mind – how to tell the other guardians of Lich's fate, perhaps, or the plans he must prepare for Taharka's inevitable invasion? Below them, Kiera sprawled beneath the sunlight, surrounded by her tall stone walls. Guards along the parapets signaled their arrival; by the time they reached the stables, Neirin's remaining guardians were already there.

"What news?" Tiamat demanded, brushing past a stablehand. "What about this damn tree, then?"

Neirin slid down from the dragon's back, and turned away. His eyes met Kuja's, and for a moment, the boy saw panic in the king's face – but then he steadied himself, drew a deep breath, and turned back to face his guardians.

"The tree is not Taharka's doing," he said, his voice steadier than he'd dared to hope. "But it marks the end of our world, all the same. The souls in the tree claim we have only five years left until Terra must fuse with a new world." He paused, letting the news sink in. "We must prepare for war. Taharka will be coming."

Maliris looked from Neirin to Kuja, finally dismounting from his dragon. "Lich?" Her voice was quiet, softer than Kuja could ever recall hearing it. The other guardians appeared to notice Lich's absence at last, and even Tiamat took a step back, staggering.

Neirin met their gaze, unflinching. "He bought us valuable time. Let's not waste it." He walked past them, Kuja scurrying after him. The guardians didn't follow – they stood in mute shock, staring at each other. It was just as well; Neirin wasn't certain how much longer he could maintain his calm.

_Don't look back_, Neirin instructed himself, keeping his eyes on the cave that would lead him to the palace. _Don't look back_. It was the same mantra he'd been repeating since the moment they'd left Lich standing on the mother continent, surrounded by wasteland and doomed to die for the sake of bringing Taharka to the desert. _Don't look back_. He heard Kuja's footsteps just behind him, and wondered what the boy must be thinking. He'd said nothing since Lich had declared his intentions on the shore near the tree, and his face had been unreadable when they'd flown away from the mother continent.

_Don't look back_. If he'd looked back, he would have flown back to Lich and insisted they could find another way, any other way, some way where no one would have to die. If he'd looked back, he might have insisted they just fly to Pandemonium and take their chances.

If he'd looked back, he'd probably be dead.

The palace was quiet, though surely news of their arrival had reached Vehtra by now. Neirin eyed the doors to the sanctum with frustration; he wanted nothing to do with the old king of Kiera; he wanted nothing so much as to retreat to his own room, close all of the doors, and deal with… everything, all of it, in private. For a moment, he was tempted to do just that.

But there was a war to prepare for.

_War_. The thought didn't frighten him. It exhausted him. Three years of preparing for it, and now that the time had finally come, he just wanted to be done with it. He glanced at Kuja. "Wait here," he sighed, opening the doors to Vehtra's chambers, not bothering to knock.

"So the beggar king returns unharmed!" Vehtra stood near the bookshelf, pawing through old tomes. He noted the look on Neirin's face, and set the books aside. "Though worse for wear, it seems."

"Kiera must prepare for war." Neirin's voice was flat. "Taharka will be here soon."

Vehtra nodded thoughtfully, studying the young man's face. "Is your army ready?"

"It will have to be. Is yours?"

"It will have to be." Vehtra folded his hands in front of him, smirking. "I'm told three flew out, but only two returned."

Neirin said nothing.

The old man nodded. "My sympathy, boy. Which did you lose?"

"Lich," Neirin replied, his voice thick. "He stayed behind by choice." _Don't look back_.

"So the boy lives, then? Good." Vehtra reached for one of the books he'd been reading. "Give this to him, will you; it's of more use to a scholar than it is to me. Tell him to make himself useful."

"He _is _useful," Neirin snapped, seizing the book from the old king's hands. "More useful than _you've_ been these past three years."

Vehtra was untroubled; he shrugged. "You forget whose palace you're in, boy," he said mildly, turning back to the shelves. "And whose hand feeds you."

Furious, Neirin stormed out of the room, nearly trampling Kuja, who had taken a seat near the door. He didn't even bother waiting to see if the boy would follow him; his nerves were raw, and he couldn't stand another minute of this nonsense. He couldn't stand _thinking_ about everything any longer – everything was boiling to the surface, and he was near enough to burning this entire damn city himself he could nearly taste the smoke. Maybe he'd even throw himself into the fire. In the long run, it would only save Taharka trouble.

_Don't look back_. All of the cities they'd run from, all of the cities Taharka had burned in their wake. Why should Kiera be any different? Traje had an army, too, but the night Taharka struck, they'd been no help. Belapest's walls had not saved it. Even Lisre, devoted to Taharka, had been razed. Even Astrula, blessed by He-Who-Sees-All, had not been granted divine protection. Kiera was only one more city to eliminate, and then…

And then where would he go?

It would be easier, he supposed, to simply kill himself and be done with it. If he were dead, Taharka couldn't use him to create Garland, and Terra would never fall into the mad cultist's hands. But what if he found someone else to serve his twisted purposes? No, Taharka must die first. Neirin would destroy Terra himself before he saw it under Taharka's control, through Garland or otherwise.

His room was a welcome respite: a cold fireplace and a bed he barely slept in, but a respite all the same. Neirin collapsed inelegantly on the bed, staring up at the canopy above as if there were answers to be found in the fabric.

His army was as strong as it was likely to be, he tried to assure himself. And the monoliths patrolling the halls, drinking from the power the bloodstones provided, were more numerous than the _people _living in the palace. The mages he'd been drawing strength from were likely fully recovered by now, and could be expected to fight on their own. Kiera had an army of well-trained soldiers ready to defend her walls. Arros, the Thief King, had a thousand warriors in his employ who would gladly add to the army's numbers. Kiera's walls stood strong and unwavering, as they had for thousands of years.

And none of it mattered.

"Neirin?" Kuja sat on the edge of the bed, studying the king with unmasked concern. For one foolish moment, Neirin thought the boy might ask _are you alright,_ or _what's wrong_, but he should have known better. "Would you like to be alone?"

He couldn't help it then. The canopy overhead blurred, and he rubbed at his eyes, trying to stop the tears; a king didn't weep. Vehtra wasn't weeping in his sanctum; Arros wasn't weeping in his hall; they were preparing for war, and here he was, sobbing like a child.

"Alone," he repeated, choking. "I will be soon, won't I?"

"Neirin…"

He sat up, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I'll lose them all, won't I?" He swallowed painfully, trying to force away the hard lump in his throat. "Maliris, Tiamat, Kraken, I'll lose them, too." Maybe not today, perhaps not tomorrow, perhaps not at all during the course of this mad war, but in five years, they would all die, all of them, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was nothing he could do to stop Terra's death, nothing he could do to stop the deaths of those who had given everything to keep him alive, nothing he could do to save his own life.

"But we'll all be born again in the new Terra," Kuja said quietly, watching Neirin shudder with sobs. He cleared his throat. "Do you think souls are bound to one another? I think we'll all find each other again."

"Surprisingly optimistic of you," Neirin sniffed, looking at Kuja with red eyes. "Since when were you so cheerful?"

Kuja smiled half-heartedly. "I read something about soulmates."

"Reading again!" Despite his tears, Neirin found he was laughing. "That reminds me – " He looked around, reaching for the book Vehtra had handed him, tossed haphazardly on a pillow. "Vehtra wanted me to give this to you. He wanted you to 'make yourself useful.'"

"Is that so." Kuja accepted the book, studying the cover. "It's a book about fusion," he informed the king, frowning. "About how Terra absorbs new worlds."

Neirin rolled his eyes, dropping back on the bed. "Nothing new, then." So much for useful information.

The boy shrugged. "I've read everything else in the library. At least it's something new." He rose, tucking the book under one arm. "I'd better get started reading, then, I suppose. 'Make myself useful.' _You_-" Kuja gave one of Neirin's dangling legs a light kick. "-Get some sleep for a change; we'll all need you at your best when Taharka arrives."

Neirin watched him leave, closing the door behind him.

_I'll lose him too,_ he thought, and the idea scared him more than any war ever could.

xxx

The book was terribly dry, and as Neirin had predicted, it was full of useless information – everyone knew how world fusion worked. Terra's crystal, the core of the planet and the source of its life, absorbed a younger planet's crystal, merging the two worlds together. Some features from both worlds could be found on the planet's surface, but typically, Terra's older, stronger structure won out. Sometimes, features from one continent could end up on an entirely different one; the author noted that after every new cycle, maps created during previous cycles were rendered useless. He included a few such maps.

Kuja yawned. Maybe he should've taken the opportunity to sleep, too. But the book was immense, and he wasn't likely to be needed much during the coming war – he was no soldier, no mage, not even a particularly useful strategist; he'd be of far more use if he stayed far out of the way. He might as well study the book.

But why _this_ book? Kuja sighed, closing the tome and setting it aside. Maybe Vehtra was just being unhelpful, as usual, and really _did_ think Kuja was of no use. Nothing would surprise him.

He _was_ surprised, though, by the sound of quiet footsteps entering the library behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see the girl – the mage girl, the one who had helped him find out about the tree. A pink flush rose to her cheeks, and she lifted a hand to her mouth, as if startled to find him there.

"It's true," she exclaimed, her bright grey eyes sparkling. "You've returned! Welcome back, my l-" She caught herself. "Kuja."

Kuja blinked. "Nice to see you again," he managed awkwardly, unsure why she seemed so pleased.

"We all wondered if you would come back," she explained, still hovering in the doorway. "You and… and King Neirin." _King_, Kuja observed. _Not god. She's trying_. The girl's smile faded slightly, but the light never left her eyes. "They say war is coming," she said. "They say Taharka is coming to conquer Kiera."

"It's true." Kuja nodded. "We'll need all of the mages to be ready."

"We're ready," she said, standing as tall as her small frame could manage. "With you here, Kiera will never fall!"

Despite everything that had happened, Kuja smiled, shaking his head. "And Neirin calls _me_ optimistic." A thought occurred to him. "I don't suppose you know anything about world fusion?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Look at the kids being friends, aww, things are going to be terrible from here on out.


End file.
